My Connaught cousins. A novel

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■iniiip ■

600 0644060 ^^^^J

p

BY THE SAME AUTHOR,
In I VoL^ reduced in price from ioj. 6^. to jj. 6</.

THE PRIEST'S BLESSING,

ORy

•POOR PATRICK'S PILGRIMAGE FROM
THIS WORLD TO A BETTER.'

SOME OPINIONS OF THE PRESS.

* Miss Jay*s nouveUe, which has some strong and stirring
qualities, seems to show that in some parts at least of Ireland the
people are now just as much their own enemies in the face of all
attempts at improving their condition as they were in the days
when Miss Edgeworth wrote her fascinating story Ennui, Miss
Jay's story is, however, of a far darker cast than the one just
referred to. As to the prevalence of the state of mind, or no
mind, and its terrible results, which she depicts with an incisive
pen, there can, unhappily, be no doubt, and the author writes
with an air of knowledge and experience which makes it diffi-
cult to cast doubt upon her explanation of things which are
suggestive enough in cut-and-diied newspaper reports, but of
which her treatment may impress some people whose attention
would otherwise be unmoved. It is not to be thought that Miss
Jay would have us believe that all Roman Catholic priests re-
semble the infamous, yet genial and popular, Father Malloy of
her story ; but there is too much reason to suppose that he is
not inaccurately drawn from a type which is not exceptional.
The grim and tragic tone of the little book is artfully relieved
wherever it is possible ; and we can say for ourselves that we
have read its three hundred pages with unfailing interest.* —
Saturday Review,

* " The Priest's Blessing " is the title of an Irish story, in one
volume, from the pen of the accomplished young lady whose
I* Queen of Connaught " and "Dark Colleen " have placed her
in the front rank of all the writers who have attempted to de-
lineate the contemporary life of Ireland. Her new tale, pub-
lished by F. V. White & Co., of London, is dedicated to Mr
Forster in warmly eulogistic words, and the motive of the book
is intimately associated with the weary problem which that
statesman has been doing his best to solve. It exhibits, with
marvellous power, one of the chief sources of the Irish difficulty.
This is the unscrupulous character of the priesthood, and their
determination to retain the control of the people in their own
hands. The portraits of the two priests who figure in Miss Jay's
narrative are drawn with a vivid force which could not possibly
be surpassed ; and the same may be said of the pathetic sketch
of the hapless peasant, Patrick O'Connor, who is brought to

VOL. m.

a

OPINIONS OF I HE PRESS.

the gallows by their villainous machination. The incidents are
evolved with great dramatic skill and vigour ; and, as a revela-
tion of the actual condition of Ireland, it is worth a cartload of
the political pamphlets and speeches on that subject with which
we have been so liberally supplied of late.' — North British Mail,

*Miss Jay's new, short, and powerful story. Poor Patrick
O'Connor, whose pilgrimage from the cradle to the grave,
blessed at both ends by the priest, is a powerfully drawn cha-
racter that will survive when "study" and ** purpose" are for-
gotten. ' — Academy.

* The authoress of the " Queen of Connaught " has produced
a singular tale of Irish life, intended to illustrate the life of the
Irish peasant from the cradle to the grave. . . . The various
incidents in the career of the Irish peasant are told with much
pathos and power, and the volume will serve to give a good
idea of the state of the impoverished people, and the tempta-
tions they are subjected to, through agitators on the one hand,
and poverty on the other.' — Era.

* This is the secret history of a case of landlord-murder, in the
West of Ireland. In telling it, Miss Jay has, with finished art,
avoided every appearance of literary colouring, and has de-
pended for effect upon an almost excessive simplicity. We are
compelled to read it as uncritically as a private letter, and do
not conspicuously realise its full power and pathos until we can
look back upon it as a whole, and then every well-remembered
stroke tells. Not all Miss Jay's readers will agree with her,
that Irish troubles are due to no deeper cause than priestly in-
fluence, or indeed that such influence is anywhere near the root
of the matter ; and she makes the usual mistake of supposing that
an Irish landlord is necessarily incapable of comprehending, at
least as well as a novelist, the natures of the people with whom he
has to deal. But, if this were so, landlords would learn much from
the life progress of Pat O'Connor, of Patrickstown — how, from
being a mere harmless victim of a large family and potato disease,
he came to die on the gallows, a martyr to a blind sense of religion
and honour. No word of coi^ventional sentiment mars the effect
of this powerful study of the heart and mind of a savage of our own
time and nation, with his capacities for unconscious heroism
under circumstances which would seem to make anything in
such a shape impossible. We are not cheated into taking strong
and bitter stuff in the formalities of a love story. Plot and style
are strong and bitter enough — as much so as any story must be
that deals with the extreme conditions of Irish peasant life as
they are. Pat O'Connor himself represents a type which she
obviously and thoroughly understands, and which all who are
interested in the Ireland of to-day and to-morrow ought to
understand. The novel is certain to attract exceptional at-
tention. ' — Graphic.

MY CONNAUGHT COUSINS.

BY

HARRIETT JAY,

AUTHOR OP "the QUEBN OP CONNAUGHT/ "TWO MEN AND

))

A MAID," ETC. ETC.

IN THREE VOLUMES.

VOL. III.

LONDON: F. V. WHITE & CO.,
31 SOUTHAMPTON STREET, STRAND, W.C.

1883.

[AU Rights reserved,]

ni

la

/.

p. V. WHITE ft OO.'S

SELECT NOVELS.

Crown Svo, cloth^ y. 6d, eiuh.

* ** My Sister the Actress "is the best novel we have had the pleasure of
fro '

The following Volumes of the Series are now ready ;—
MY SISTER THE ACTRESS. By Florence Marry at.

' ** My Sister the Actress " is the best novel we h
reading from the pen of Miss Marryat.'— ^<7A» Bu//.

THE DEAN'S WIFK By Mrs Eiloart.

' Any reader who wants a good story thoroughly well told cannot do better
than read " The Dean's Wife." '—^oAn Bull,

A BROKEN BLOSSOM. By Florence Marryat.

' a really charming story, full of delicate pathos and quiet humour ;
pleasant to read and pleasant to remember.' — yonn Bull,

TWO MEN AND A MAID. By Harriett Jay.

* Comoared with the former works of the authoress of " The Queen of
Connaugnt," this novel must be pronounced second to none.' — Graphic.

SWEETHEART AND WIFE. By Lady Constance
Howard.

' The story from first to last is attractive, and cannot fail to command
wide favour.' — WhiUkall Review.

PHYLLIDA. By Florence Marryat.

'*' Phyllida" is a novel of which the author may be justly proud.'—
Morning Past,

BARBARA'S WARNING. By the Author of * Recom-
mended to Mercy.'

COLSTON and son, PRINTERS, EDINBURGH.

MY CONNAUGIIT COUSINS.

CHAPTER I.

rUSHA, but this is a bad way
were in, yer honor," said
Shawn, as he wiped the rain
from his blinded eyes, and tried in vain
to penetrate the darkness which lay like a
cloud around us.

I shivered as he spoke, and silently
acknowledged the truth of his words.
We were in a bad way indeed.
For several hours that evening we had
lain damp and chilly on the banks of a

VOL. III. A

2 My Connaught Caasins.

lonely lake, waiting for the wild geese ;
having secured several victims, we gathered
up our belongings, and prepared for a walk
over several miles of dreary bogland to-
wards home. But we had scarcely covered
a mile of the ground, and were in the most
desolate part of the mountain, when the
darkness, which for some time had been
gradually coming on, fell like a pall around
us ; a bitter wind swept lightly over the
moor, and rain began to fall. Still we
wandered on ; at length Shawn paused,
declared, with a tone of shame in his
voice, that he had lost his way, and
asked what was to be done.

What could be done ?

We were surrounded by black darkness,
fully seven miles from home. We had lost
our way, and had no means of regaining it.
It seemed to me that the only feasible
plan was to remain where we were till dawn.

We had just come to this despairing
decision, and were about to make the

. My Connaught Cousins. 3

most of our boggy bed, when there was
borne to us out of the darkness, on the
breath of the wind, the faint echo of a
human voice. Never before had a voice
sounded to me so pleasant. Darting for-
ward, I was about to hail the stranger,
when the more prudent Shawn held me back.

" Don't spake, yer honor," said he ; " 'tis
that thief 0' the world Mick Maloney, and
if he hears your voice he'll surely take us
for the peelers."

So we kept perfectly still, while the
unconscious stranger approached.

As he drew near we heard that he was
singing softly; next we distinguished the
words of the song.

" Send it gaily round,

Life would be no pleasure,
If we had not found

This enchanting ti^asura
And, when tyrant death's

Arrow shall transfix ye,
Let your latest breaths

Be whisky, whisky, whisky."

4 My Connaught Cousins.

**Wid all the pleasure in the world/'
said Shawn, bringing the song to an end,
the singer to a standstill. "And now,
Mick Maloney," he continued, " thank the
good God above that we're not the peelers,
but only two poor cratures that's lost our
way.

" What, Shawn ! " came in stentorian
tones from the darkness.

" Yes, in troth, it's Shawn, and the young
mashter along wid him, and both just as
wet as can be. We're seekin' a night's
lodging, Mick Maloney, for we can't get
home, and the bog's but a wet bed at the
best o' times, and no way fit for the likes
o us.

Who Mick Maloney might be I had not
at that time the most remote idea. I only
felt that he came like an angel of good-
ness that night, for, after a short whis-
pered conversation with Shawn, he agreed
to lead us to a haven of rest. So we
gathered up our traps again, with a much

My Connaught Cozisins. 5

lighter heart than we had laid them down,
and followed the footsteps of our guide.

How far we really went, I never could
discover, but at the time the distance
seemed to me interminable. The night
was so dark that I could not see one
foot before me, and I stepped recklessly
on, tumbling in and out of bogholes, while
the wind blew clammily on my cheek, and
the rain fell, soaking my garments through.
At length our guide paused, and I saw that
we stood before the closed door of a mud
cabin. The hut looked black and desolate
as the scene surrounding it, and I thought
at first that it was quite deserted, but
on Mick Maloney applying his knuckles to
the door, and giving three peculiar taps
a faint whistle came through the keyhole ;
then, with the words, "all right," spoken
in Irish, the door flew open, I was hurriedly
hustled in, and it closed again.

The transfer from black darkness to
bright light was so sudden that for a

6 My Connaught Cousins.

moment my eyes were blinded, and I
could see nothing, but I heard around
me a hissing of steam and a splashing
of water, which told me where I was.

Our guide had led us to a still-house.

Yes : when at length I removed my
hand from my blinded eyes, I saw that
my supposition was correct. There, a
yard or two from my very feet, stood
two illicit stills in the height of distill-
ation ; some half - dozen stalwart fellows
were working them, while a couple of
young girls, an old woman, and a man
were filling stone jars with potheen. The
sight of this labour was anything but
pleasant to me. I knew that if, by any
stroke of ill luck, the police should happen
to pass by that house that night, come
in when the work was proceeding, and
find me coolly looking on, I should be
summoned before the magistrate, and or-
dered to pay a heavy fine. Yet what
was I to do ? Stay in the warmth and

My Connaught Cousins. j

shelter, or return to the cold, wet, desolate
bog ? I decided to adopt the former plan,
so having thrown oflF my dripping overcoat,
and taken a good drink of the whisky
which was so liberally bestowed upon me,
I lit my cigar, and taking a seat beside
the fire, looked leisurely at what was going
on. Shawn threw down a little straw for
the dogs, put my gun in a place of safety,
hung lip the birds, and then went over
to the boys to give them a hand with
their work.

Fully an hour passed thus : — both the
stills were empty, and the last jar was
being corked, when we were suddenly
startled by a peculiar scraping and whin-
ing at the door. Shawn flew to open it ;
as he did so, a dog crept in.

"Patrick," cried one of the girls,
addressing the drenched animal, "is it
the peelers, dear ? "

The poor brute set up a yell as if in
answer, and seizing one of the stills with

8 My Connaught Cousins.

his teeth, tried hard to pull it along the
floor.

" It's the peelers sure enough," said
Shawn, and I felt an electric thrill run
through me.

Immediately the scene became one of
wild confusion, and I found myself in the
midst of the mcZde, but before I had time
to think in what way I could be of ser-
vice, the whole of the work was done. The
stills were lifted bodily from the ground
and taken out of the house, and the
stone jars quickly followed. In less than
five minutes all was cleared away, the
dripping dog which had caused all the
commotion was in the comer making
overtures of friendship to my surly re-
trievers ; tTTo of the boys were examining
my birds, the girls were washing the
potatoes for supper, and the rest of the
company were seated around the fire lis-
tening attentively to Shawn's account of
our adventures that night.

My Connaught Cousins. 9

Presently a loud knock came to the door.

" Who's there ? " cried Mick Maloney.

" Open the door," came from without ;
" make haste, ye spalpeen, ye. If ye dare
to remove one of the stills I see at work — "

The door flew open, and the strangers
rushed in. Four men dressed in plain
clothes, but looking as little like Irish
peasants, whom they were intended to
represent, as men could well do.

" Good night, sergeant," said Mick
Maloney quietly, "if youVe come all
the way from the barrack to-night to see
a shtill at work, Fm sorry for you ! "

The sergeant made no answer, but he
looked keenly around.

The room in which he stood was the
only one which the hut contained. A large
kitchen, with a mud floor, black bare rafters
and loose stone walls, through the wide
crevices of which the wind crept. Over
a great turf fire, which burnt on the floor,
the pot of potatoes swung, supported by

lo My Connaught Cousins.

a black iron chain which was fixed in the
rafters, while around the fire, sitting cross-
legged on the floor, was the family. They
moved closer together and made room for
the unwelcome intruders. The three police-
men sidled up to the fire and unbuttoned
their coats, revealing as thy did so the
revolvers which were fastened in their
belts, and the swords which hung from
their sides. The sergeant, who had drawn
his revolver, still stood aloof.

" Now, Mick Maloney," he said, " you've
been lying to me and deceiving me for
several years, and I don't mean to believe
you any more. Don't I know, without
your telling me, that you make enough
potheen here every year to supply the
whole of Connaught ? Yes, and I know,
as well as you do, that you were making
it here to-night."

" Were we in troth ? " said the young
fellow innocently; **then why didn't you
find us wid the shtills ? "

My Connaught Cousins. i r

" That's exactly what I can't make out,"
confessed the puzzled sergeant. " When I
got the information that you were at
work to-night, I thought I'd nail ye,
for the night's so dark ye can't see a
hand before ye, and if I had caught ye/
he continued, putting the revolver into
his belt again, " I'd have clapped every
mother's son of ye into gaol, and made
ye suflFer for the runs you've given to
me!"

The boys laughed ; the sergeant, judging
from the confident faces of one and all
that no stills were within reach that
night, stood for five minutes warming
himself by the fire, then with his
men he departed.

All that night I remained in the hut,
but when the first gleam of dawn appeared
I prepared to go. The fate of the stills
was a mystery to me ; I questioned Mick
Maloney, and after a little hesitation he
pointed to a strip of brown bog which

12 My Connaught Cousins.

lay to the right of the dwelling, and
replied.

" There they are, yer honor ! "

" Where ? "

" Sunk in the bog there, and the whisky
along wid them."

" There ? — why the police might walk
over that spot at any moment and discover
all!"

" So they might, indeed, but then they
don't, and weVe hid them there these six
years. And if they did find them they
couldn't punish us, for sure they're not in
any house, and the Lord knows who put
them there ! "

He walked over the bog, drew up one
of the stone jars, and presented it to me,
and as I shook hands all round and wished
the family ** good-bye," they all expressed
a regret that with last night's work the
distilling for that season was over — ^but
hoped, plase God, I might come next year,
and see a good drop made ! "

My Connaugkt Cousins. 13

But with that year's work the Maloneys
ceased their labour of illicit distilling.
A few months after my midnight adven-
ture, the faithful animal which had been
their sole protector from the police, was
found poisoned on the hills. Whether or
not the police had at length discovered the
use to which the dog was put, and so
determined to destroy it, no one could tell ;
at all events the Maloneys deemed it a
fitting time to give up their dangerous
work ; — after they had committed the body
of their favourite to the earth, they sold
the stills and never again made a drop
of potheen !

CHAPTER IL

OW, yer honor, jist lie quiet
and aisy; keep the gun on
full -cock and all ready, but
never shtir a limb till I give the curlew's
cry, and then look out, for the birds will
be jist within shot of ye."

So spoke Shawn, as he laid the last
bunch of heather on my quivering body,
and having satisfied himself that I was
perfectly well concealed from human
sight, he prepared to creep off to the
spot where he had seen the wild geese
alight, in order to drive the unconscious
victims directly over my head, I nodded
as he gave his instructions, and ere he
crept away, promised implicitly to obey

My Connaught Cousins. 1 5

his commands. But I felt anything but
comfortable in my novel position. My
bed was the bare bog-land, oozy and soft
with the soaking of the heavy winter
rains ; my covering the half - withered
heather which Shawn had uprooted from
the hillside. The prospect all around
me was black and desolate as the sky
which loomed above, but the bitter wind
came creeping over the hill, and froze
my face and hands. I lay patiently for
some time, the sportsman - like ardour in
my heart preventing the wind from utterly
freezing my limbs, but at length my
patience got exhausted, and I began to stir.
Suddenly I heard the faint whistle of the
curlew, — a minute after I saw a flock
of wild geese pass almost directly over
my head. I fired wildly, and missed !

Then I found that my garments were
completely soaked with bog-water, and
that my limbs had sunk several inches
deep in the oozy ground ; nay, more*

i6 My Connaught Cousins.

that they were only prevented from sink-
ing farther by some obstruction which
was so hard and cold that it made my
bones ache. My first oare was to exhume
my half-buried limbs, my next to unearth
the substance which had prevented me
from sinking utterly. This latter proved
to be no easy matter, but with the help
of the spade which Shawn had brought
with him to prepare my boggy bed, I
at length succeeded in clearing away a
good deal of earth and discovering that
my life-preserver was a deal box, some
five feet long, stained almost black with
bog-water, and fastened down with half-
a-dozen rusty nails.

I had heard, during my childhood days,
of fortunate people being enriched by
the discovery of buried treasures, but, I
need hardly add, all such romantic ideas
had long since vanished from my mind ;
and yet, as I gazed at that peculiar-look-
ing box, I felt as if a cold spell had

My Connaught Cousins. 17

passed over me, and a succession of the
wildest thoughts surged through my brain.
Exhume and open it I must, and the
wish became stronger within me when
Shawn, who soon returned from his goose-
driving, did his best to dissuade me from
such a proceeding.

'* Sure, 'tis no aflFair of ours, yer honor,"
said Shawn, looking at the same time so
profoundly uncomfortable as to cause my
curiosity to increase. "Maybe its a little,
potheen that the boys have buried — "

But I cut him short, and insisted that
he should help to exhume and open the
box. Seeing I was determined, he at
length set to work, but he was so slow,
and evidently so unwilling, that at length
my patience got exhausted. I took the
spade from his hand, inserted it in the
crevice upon which Shawn had been work-
ing, and with one powerful wrench forced
the lid. We both recoiled in horror — the
box contained a corpse ! After the first

VOL. III. B

1 8 My Connaugkt Cousins.

■

shock of the discovery was over, I looked
again, and my dismay increased tenfold.

"Why, Shawn," I exclaimed, "if it
isn't—"

" Yes, in troth ! " broke in Shawn, " sure
enough, it is," — and we both stared into
the box again.

In order to explain the strange circum-
stance which enabled me to recognise this
corpse, I must chronicle events which took
place several weeks before I exhumed it.

On the fifteenth day of November, the
annual fair was held at Gulranny. The
anticipation of this day usually created a
good deal of excitement in the minds of
the peasants in and around Storport — for
it was always constituted a sort of gala
time; but the announcement of the fair
of 18 — brought with it whisperings of
woe to many a home. The crops had been
bad that year, and the miserable half-
starved tenants had been unable to scrape

My Connaught Cousins, 19

together enough money to pay the rent,
so the procter had summoned them to
attend the sessions of Gulranny, in order
that they might show cause why they
should not deliver up the whole of their
worldly goods. On the eventful day,
which was ushered in with hurricanes of
blinding sleet, I ordered Shawn to bring
out the horse and car, that we might
drive into Gulranny together. By the
time we started the hail had ceased to
fall, but still the wind blew bitteriy, freez-
ing with its icy breath the little pools on
the wayside, and when we drove into
Gulranny I felt almost as if my blood
was frozen. It was midday by that time,
and, save for one or two decrepit old men
whom we had passed on the road, we
were the last to arrive. What a gather-
ing there was! The streets of the little
town were so crowded that it was almost
impossible to make one's way along. In
the market-place bevies of rosy -cheeked

20 My Cannaught Cousins.

servant girk stood waiting to be hired,
pigs granted and squealed as the drovers
whipped them along, the shopkeepers
stood at their doors shrieking to the
passengers to buy ; Mr O'Neills agent
sat in a cosy parlour of the inn, com-
fortably enjoying his glass of wine, gazing
with a smile into the wild, woebegone
faces of the creatures whom he had sum-
moned thither, and determinedly shaking
his head at every heart-broken appeal.

"Don't come to me," he said; " Tm
done with ye, a lot of lazy spendthrifts
as ye are. Ye'll go before them to-day
as '11 make ye pay."

I sat in a remote comer of the room
and quietly watched the wretched crea-
tures who crowded around the man, their
wild eyes, their famished faces, their
trembling bodies clad in the dirty rags
which were their sole protection from
cold, and as I glanced from them to the
frozen window-panes and the sleet which

My Connattght Cousins. 21

fell, covering with a thin ciystal sheet the
kerbstones of the street, my heart turned
sick.

" Poor, miserable, half-starved wretches ! "
I thought, "most of you will have sore
hearts to-night, for you will lose your
little all ; God help you ! for there will
be nothing but starvation left."

Heartsick at the sight of so much sorrow,
which I was utterly powerless to relieve,
I arose and was about to leave the room
when my eye was suddenly arrested by
a figure, ragged, wild, and woebegone,
which stood close up by the window.
Five minutes before, I had seen this man
crouch like a stricken beast before the
agent, his skeletonian hands outstretched,
his parched lips suing for mercy.

" For the love of God, Toney Monaghan,
niver be hard on a poor boy," he had
said ; " all my potatoes had the black
disease this year, and they rotted in the
ground. My pig took the sickness, and

22 My Connaught Cousins.

died, I have two little children down
wid a fever, and if you take away my
cow ril have no drop of milk to give
them, and they'll die/'

This appeal, heart-breaking as it was,
had met with the usual repulse.

"Don't bring yer lies to me. You'll
go before them as '11 make ye pay ! "

As the man crept back into the shadow,
I noticed that the piteous look of appeal
had left his face ; his features were
strangely convulsed, his wild eyes gleamed,
and his hand clenched and unclenched in
nervous dread.

" That man means mischief," I said as
I passed out into the street.

At two o'clock the tenants' cases were
to be called on ; and as the hands of the
clock approached that hour I made my
way through the crowded streets in the
direction of the court. I noticed, to my
wonder, that the streets through which I
passed were almost deserted; presently a

My Cannaught Cousins. 2

o

succession of moans and cries struck upon
my ear, then I saw that people were
running excitedly, and, following the direc-
tion which they took, I at length found
myself on the outskirts of a great crowd
which was collected in the principal street
before the open door of the court. Seeing
Shawn amongst the throng, I questioned
him as to the cause of the excitement,
for I noticed that many of the people
were wringing their hands, others moaned
feebly, while others glared around them
with wild eves and then seemed to utter
sighs of relief Instead of replying to
my question, Shawn took' me "i>y the
shoulders, and gently propelled me into
the middle of the throng. There I saw
the cause of the disturbance. Lying on
the kerbstone, his head supported in the
arms of a policeman, his face exposed to
the wondering gaze of hundreds of eyes,
was the agent, stone dead. His body was
surrounded by policemen, warders of the

24 My Conndught Cousins,

court — nay, at the cry of murder, the very
judge upon the bench had stopped the
course of justice, and come forth.

" Good God ! " I exclaimecl, recoiling
upon Shawn ; " how did this happen ? "

"He was jist walkin' along the street,
yer honor," said Shawn quietly, **when
he fell, and laid his head down and
died."

<* Murdered ? "

" Oh, God forbid I yer honor ; what for
should he be murdered at all, at all ? "

Nevertheless, I felt convinced that my
supposition was right ; nay more, I believed
that I could point out the very man who
had done this deed.

• •'••••••

That a murder had actually been com-
mitted could not be proved on the spot,
but the manner of the man's death was
so peculiar as to call for a coroner's
inquiry, and a post-mortem examination.
The body, therefore, was at once removed

My ConnaugfU Cousins. 25

to the inn, and several hours after its
removal the two principal doctors of the
town were on their way armed with the
implements necessary for their work. On
their arrival at the inn, a novel scene
awaited them. The people, having at
length solved the meanino^ of the awful
words, "post-mortem examination," had
risen up in arms, and declared that no
such desecration of the dead should be
allowed. Before Toney Monnaghan became
a land-agent, he had been one of them-
selves, and though he had been a little
hard upon them of late, there wasn't a
man among them but would raise his voice
against having the poor boy's body cut up
" like a beast's/' The consequence was — ^a
riot. The police were overpowered, the
doctors sent packing, the inn taken by
storm. For two nights the body lay in
state, being waked by its wild comrades.
At the end of that time, the authorities,
only too eager to bring matters to a peaceful

26 My Connaught Cousins.

issue, allowed it to be quietly buried. As
the grave closed above it, popular excite-
ment seemed to die away.

But if the people were satisfied, the
authorities were not. Everybody believed
that a murder had been committed, and
that the subsequent riot was only an effort
to prevent the discovery of the murderer.
No sooner, therefore, was the unfortunate
man buried, than the doctors received an
order authorising them to exhume the body
and make their examination in secret. One
night, two nights after the funeral, they set
out on their mission with hopeful hearts.
Making straight for the graveyard, they
employed themselves in opening up the
grave. For several hours they worked with
pickaxe and spade ; at last they came
upon the coffin, raised it up, and opened
the lid-
It was empty !

At this piece of audacity on the part
of some persons unknown, everybody was

My Connaught Cousins. 27

more amazed than ever, and again came the
conviction, stronger than before, that murder
had been done. But try as they would,
they could discover nothing. The whole
country was thrown into a tumult, and
popular excitement was at its height, when
I unwittingly solved the terrible secret by
finding the body in the bog.

Having sworn Shawn to secrecy, I
assisted him to re-inter the box, and forth-
with sent word of the discovery to the
magistrate. The box was at once removed,
the post-mortem examination concluded,
and the discovery made that the unfor-
tunate man had died of heart disease.
Again everybody was amazed, and this time
the wonder was mixed with shame. After
the examination was made, the coroner's
inquiry was hurried over, and once more,
in solemn pomp, and with all the rites
of the church, the agent was laid in his
grave. Amidst the solemn concourse which

28 My Connaught Cousins.

attended this second funeral, I noticed the
wild wan face which had haunted me ever
since that day when I had seen it by the
frozen window of the inn — the face of the
very man whom in my own mind I had
accused of murder ! For a moment I hung
back ashamed ; then I boldly walked
forward and pressed a bank-note into the
wretched creature's hand. He looked from
it to me in dazed amazement, then the
sight of one of his ragged children seemed
to make him realise what the money would
do. He clutched it closer, and with one
last look down the open grave, crept away
towards his home.

By whose hand the corpse was con-
veyed from the churchyard to the bog
was never discovered. It was generally
believed, however, that news of the in-
tended examination had been whispered
abroad, and that the agent was exhumed
and hidden solely with a view to prevent-
ing his body being " cut up."

CHAPTER III.

KiIME passes quickly in Connaught,
or at least so it seemed to me ;
for never had I known summer
months roll so rapidly away. Yet they
were gone, and what was worse, the
autumn months had gone to join them,
and I, still lingering on in Storport, saw
that winter was slowly but most surely
coming on.

As the seasons changed, the aspect of
the village changed too. The mighty
Atlantic, which during the lazy summer
days had lain like a tawny lion, calm,
majestic, gazing with gentle eyes upon
the earth, now bestirred itsulf, lifted up

r

30 My Connaught Cousins.

its mighty voice, and roared as if in answer
to the roaring of the wind. Days of tem-
pest came, during which time I foimd my-
self pretty frequently in Oona's study, and
always by her side when we sat round the
fire at night, and told stories, or listened
to the wailing of the wind. Sometimes
when the wind was loudest and we felt
the Lodge swaying in its violent grasp,
I drew a bit nearer to my cousin and took
her hand, and she did not draw it away.
Nay, once or twice I fancied that the
slender fingers closed over mine, then
becoming suddenly conscious of what she
had done Oona would blush and laugh,
and tell us some story of folk lore which
had been told to her by one or other of
the village cauliaghs when she was quite a
little child.

It was during one of these evenings,
when the wind was shrieking round the
house and hailstones were rattling on the
pane, that Oona, gazing round upon her

My Connaught Cousins. 31

sisters, reminded them of their suggestion
that each one should provide me with
entertainment for a day.

" He has only had three days as yet/'
said Oona ; ** Nora's, Biddy's, and mine."

** And mine," interrupted Aileen. " I
didn't tell him a story, but then neither
did Biddy, but I certainly entertained him
for a day, for I took him over to Glenamoy,
gave him some of the best flies I ever tied
in my life, and put him in the way of
catching three salmon. I think that ought
to be counted ! "

*' So it ought, Alley, and so it shall," I
said ; "I never enjoyed a day more in my
life."

" Very well," said Oona, " if Jack is
satisfied we ought to be, but that only
makes four ; there's Kate and Amy still.
Kate, what do you mean to do ? "

But before Kate could reply, Amy who
as usual had been rolling on the hearth
with the dogs all round her, scrambled

32 My Connaught Cousins.

to her knees, pushed back the dogs, and
exclaimed, —

" I know what / should like to do. I
should like to tell a story ! Cousin Jack,
if I tell you a story to-night will you call
it my day ? "

" I will ! " I said, and all the girls
laughed.

But Amy, grave as a judge, settled
herself upon the hearth and told us the
story of how Andy Beg became a Fairy.

She told it in very childish fashion,
which I have had to alter slightly to suit
the requirements of print.

I.

"Did you ever get sight of it yerself,
Cuileagh, when you were passing Ehuna
Hanish on a Christmas night like this,
on your way to the chapel to hear the
midnight mass ? "

" Get sight of it ! Troth, then, I never

My Connaught Cousins. 33

did ; and 'tis aisy seeing that same, for
sure, then, if I had got sight of it, 'tis
not here I'd been sitting now, but I'd be
lying in my grave as dead as — as — as — '*
and finding himself unable to discover a
simile, the speaker bent over the fire,
squeezed some burning ashes into his pipe-
bowl, and began puffing vigorously.

He was a short, thick-set man, with
little prepossessing in his appearance. His
face was, at first sight, hard and most
repelling ; and this, his neighbours said,
was the true index to his character.
Cuileagh Clanmorris was a most unpopular
man in Storport. Instead of mixing with
his fellows and showing his face at fairs
and weddings and wakes, he worked like
any beast of burden all the year ; and on
Sundays and feast days, and at Christmas
tide, when he had a few hours to spare,
instead of enjoying his leisure as a mortal
should, he merely stepped into his neigh-
bour Dunloe's, and smoked his pipe in the

VOL. III. c

34 My Connaught Cousins.

ingle, and told weird stories and fairy
legends to that child, which, as the popu-
lation would have it, was no human child,
" but only a bit of a fairy itself."

And, in truth, there was something about
little Andy, or, as he was called in Irish,
Andy Beg, which was extremely fairy-like
and weird, a strange, old-fashioned wonder
and wisdom which had convinced the
peasantry, and some of the child's relatives
too, that he was no ordinary being. His
mother was the widow Dunloe, who had
lived all her life in Storport ; and who
since that night when Manus Dunloe had
lost his life off the Ehuna Hanish, had
dwelt in the little cabin on the beach, with
only her father and Andy.

Andy was six years old, yet he had
none of a child's ways, and no desire for
childish companionship. The being for
whom he cared most was his grandfather,
an old man of ninety years, who habitu-
ally sat in the ingle, with his grey head

My Connaught Cousins. 35

bowed, and his bony hands clasped upon
his knees, in a state of mental torpor, from
which it seemed at times an earthquake
could not have roused him, but who, at
the slightest sound of Andy's voice, stirred
and lived, his dull, heavy, lustreless eyes
gleaming with a ray of human light.
From the very first these two had been
drawn together by a strange fascination.
Ever since the day when he first began
to walk with some steadiness across the
floor, Andy had taken his stand between
his grandfather's knees, had prattled to
him in that strange, old-fashioned way
of his; had attended to him assiduously
in all his wants, until, as time went on,
the child's life seemed to get interwoven,
as it were, with that of the old man ;
and at length, to the wonder of all, it
was discovered that he, who during his
life had been singularly hard, callous, and
cruel, had got all his affections aroused by
this quaint little companion of his old age.

36 My Connaught Cousins,

He was very old-fashioned, was Andy
Beg ; he had a pleading, pinched look in
his face, and a strange light in his eyes,
and a quiet, unchildlike gentleness in his
voice, which aroused the darkest fears in
his mother s breast. He was not meant
for this world, she said, but he was a
little fairy, with a human voice, and
human eyes, and surely a human soul.
He had come to them, and had been a
blessing to them, but he was perhaps not
destined to stay.

Andy Beg was not a strong child.
Once or twice during his short life he
had been stricken down, and had lain at
death's door ; and at those times the old
man had awakened from his torpor, and
had sat beside the bed, with his dull
eyes fixed in agony, as if his life hung
upon the child's breath. But Andy had
recovered from these attacks, and had
taken his place again between his grand-
father's knees, his face a little more

My Connaught Cousins. 37

pinched and worn, his eyes shining a
little more brightly, his voice chiming
with a still more pathetic ring. The child's
face had never looked so old and strange
as it did on that Christmas night, when,
standing betweeen his grandfather's knees,
with his small white fingers resting upon
the bony hands of the old man, and his
cheek pressed against his sleeve, he had
fixed those luminous eyes of his upon
the grim countenance of Cuileagh Clan-
morris, and had asked him to tell him of
the fairy maidens who tended their flocks
on Christmas night on the Isle na Creag
— that spot of green which was supposed
to be visible every year an hour before
midnight mass.

Cmleagh Qanmorris puff'ed hard at his
pipe, and between each puff* he gazed
more fixedly at the child, and as he did
so the hard expression of his face grew
tender, and the heavy clouds of smoke
more dense. A shade of disappointment

38 My Connaught Cotisins.

stole over Andy's face as he listened to
the grim man's speech, and the little
white hand began beating upon the bony
fingers of his grandfather.

"Sure I thought you had seen it,
Cuileagh ! "

"Not I, in troth, but 'tis often I heard
tell of it."

For a moment the child stood with his
eyes fixed meditatively upon the glowing
turf sods ; then suddenly he turned round,
gently opened the old man's coat, and dived
his small hand deep into a pocket in the
inside. This pocket was the child's special
property ; it was solely appropriated to his
use ; no hands but his ever slipped into it
and brought to light the strange medley
of things with which it was filled. Andy
knew exactly what was there. He could
count on his fingers the number of stones
he had, which served him as marbles ;
he knew the exact length of the string
which wound his top, and the . top, too.

My Connaught Cousins. 39

was there — the one which Cuileagh Clan-
morris had brought him that time he went
to Gulranny fair. They were safe there,
Andy knew ; no one but himself would dare
to rifle the old man's coat-pockets ; and
the old man himself, — why he was tnerely
a peg on which the coat hung, although,
if occasion required, he guarded Andy's
property with jealous ferocity.

So on this occasion the child was pretty
sure of finding the treasure he sought. His
hand dived to the bottom, then it emerged,
holding tightly a piece of white loaf-bread.

" Sure, I will give you ihisy if you will
tell what you know to me and grandfather.*'
And he held forth the bread as an in-
ducement. Among the peasantry of Stor-
port, white bread was a luxury which was
seldom seen, and seldom or never eaten ; so,
on this occasion, Andy attached to it as
much importance as a southern child would
do to an apple, a bonbon, or any other
delicacy. Cuileagh Clanmorris smiled, drew

40 My Connaught Cousins,

his pipe from his mouth, knocked out the
ashes upon the hearth-stone, leaned his
elbows upon his knees, and looked into
Andy's face.

" Ate yer bread, Andy eroo^ sure I'll tell
ye what I know without the likes of that ! "

Andy drew back softly with a brighter
face, and began munching the bread, and
rubbed his cheek against the old man's
sleeve, and patted his hand, and added,
softly, —

"And you will tell grandfather, too?"
while the old man, who had been aroused
by the sound of the child's voice, murmured
quietly, in a mumbling, half sleepy tone, —

" Ay, ay," and dozed off again.

It was a Christmas night.

Outside on the hills the snow gleamed,
and when the voices were still the room
was filled with a soft low music floating
up from the sea, which washed upon the
shingle scarce a hundred yards from the
cabin-door. Here and there on the hills

My Connaught Cousins. 41

dark figures flitted along, leaving deep
tracks behind them in the snow as they
passed on towards the chapel to hear
Father John say midnight mass. The
wind which blew softly scattered the snow
and ruffled the surface of the sea.

Andy Beg was fortunate so far as he was
spared the misery attendant upon wintry
weather and cheerless Christmas nights. A
bright firelight played upon him and warmed
him, and illumined his pale pinched little
face as he stood between his grandfather s
knees with his eyes fixed upon Cuileagh,
waiting for the tale.

"Tis often I heard tell of it," said
Cuileagh, " but whether 'tis true or not,
none but the Holy Virgin herself can tell.
They're sayin' it rises up from the say
there just before midnight mass. 'Tis a
lovely island, they tell, with trees and
grass and flowers and streams, and in every
one o' them flowers there's a fairy, and in
every one o' them streams there's a score

42 My Connaught Cousins.

o' them, and under the trees there's a herd
o' cattle grazing, and a fairy colleen watch-
ing them, and singing the while, and that
herd o' cattle," continued Cuileagh, lowering
his voice to an awful whisper, " is a herd
of mortal men." \

" Well, well ! " said Andy, fixing his eyes
in astonishment ; " and how did they come
there at all, at all ? "

" The Lord knows ! " returned Cuileagh
solemnly ; *' but 'tis said they were passing
along the say shore on a Christmas night,
when they seen the island itself, and the
fairies dancing and capering about, and they
laughed and clapped their hands, and for
this they were made fairies, and on Christmas
night they were turned to a herd o' cattle
as a punishment, and since then no mortal
man has ever looked on it, and if he does, 'tis
a sure sign that 'tis dead he'll be before the
year is out, and the fairies will take his soul,
and tho' 'tis a grand place, sure 'tis only fit for
the likes o' them, but not for Christian men."

My Connaught Cousins. 43

For a few moments Andy stood silent,
looking into the fire; then he turned his
little pale face, with the fire's red glow upon
it, and gazed into Cuileagh's dark eyes.

*' Will I go there, Cuileagh ? " he asked ;
and added softly, " and will grandfather go
too?"

" The Lord forbid ! " said Cuileagh as he
reverently crossed his breast. ''Sure you
wouldn't wish to go to the fairies, Andy Beg ?
and as to your grandfather there, why the
Blessed Virgin herself will take him when
'tis time ! "

" Will she ? " said Andy, opening his eyes.
"Then maybe she will take me too.
Grandfather wouldn't go alone, would you,
granny ? "

He looked wistfully into the old man's
face ; he found no gleam of light there, but
he saw the grey head shake slowly.

Andy felt ever so little disappointed that
night. He would not leave his grandfather,
not for worlds, if the old man went to the

44 My Connaught Cousins.

Virgin, why of necessity, Andy must go too,
but as he lay down to rest, he could not
help thinking that he would much rather be
going to the Fairy Island, to hear the fairies
singing, and to watch the shining sea.

11.

All the world seemed white, the moun-
tains were white, covered deep in snow,
and the streams and tarns were frozen to
crystal ice ; and before all stretched the
sea like a glittering glassy mirror sparkling
in the light. As Andy stood knee-deep in the
snow and looked around him, his eyes got
dazzled with so much brightness. He did
not know how he got there ; he did not
know why he had come ; he did not know
where he was even ; he only knew that he
stood alone in the snow, away from his
grandfather for the first time in his life.

The little fellow folded his arms to keep
himself warm, and looked around again.

My Connaught Cousins. 45

Behind him the hiUs stretched in long
perspective; then they got mingled up
confusedly, and then they turned into old
men's faces, and gazed at him through
hoary hair. Andy felt a little frightened, and
looked at the sea. It still lay placid, and
mirrored on its surface were innumerable
stars reflected from the heavens above.
Not a breath stirred ; but as Andy stood
looking he suddenly became aware that the
air was filled with a soft, low, musical
sound, like the humming of a thousand bees.
Andy stood gazing and listening enraptured,
and then he found that his eyes were not
resting upon the water at all, but upon a
spot, a lovely green spot, set out yonder in
the shining water. He looked again. It
was an island, covered with long grass,
and tall waving ferns and bright silvern
flowers, the scent of which was difiused into
the sea breeze and wafted into his face ; and
he saw figures, bright little fairy figures,
moving about amidst these green glades.

46 My Connaught Cousins.

and their faces, oil ! so quaint and old,
just like his own, were turned towards him,
and their eyes looked into his.

The whole island was flooded with a
bright Ught, which streamed down upon
the grass and the flowers and the little fairy
figures which moved about them. Then
Andy's eyes wandered on, and he saw a herd
of cattle feeding beneath the trees, and he
knew this must be the herd of which
Cuileagh spoke, for there, quite near them,
sat the figure of a lovely colleen singing
softly, with her eyes downcast. Then
Andy began to think how much he would
like to go there, into, that cool and lovely
place, and even as he thought so the
colleen rose, and turned towards him, and
beckoned with her white hand. Andy
stretched his hands out too, when sud-
denly he remembered that he was there
alone, so he drew back again, and cried, —

" I will come I but I must bring grand-
father I "

My Connaught Cousins. 47

He turned, and at that moment a great
clang struck on his ear, a heavy, sonorous
sound, like the ringing of bells, in the air
flashes of light darted, and a cry was heard
like a human voice. Then Andy felt
frightened again, and looked behind him,
and he saw the island glittering now like a
ball of fire ; and the tree tops waved, and
the fairies danced; the cattle raised their
heads, and lowed softly in weary human
voices, and as they did so their heads turned
to human heads, and their eyes looked
straight into Andy's, while slowly the island
split in two and sank softly beneath the
water.

Andy opened his eyes, and found he was
lying in his bed, with the full cold light
of a Christmas morning streaming in his
face ; the chapel bells were ringing for early
mass. He looked around, but he was alone.
He never would sleep with his grandfather ;
the old man looked so hideous and skele-
tonian in his night gear, his sunken cheeks,

48 My Connaught Cousins.

and hollow eyes were made so ghastly by a
white nightcap, that, much as Andy loved
him, he never could trust himself to gaze
upon him in this condition ; so, instead of
running to his grandfather's bedside, and
telling him of his dream, he lay quite
still and tried to dream it all over
again. But when at length he was up
and again standing between his grand-
father's knees he looked questioningly into
his face.

"Grandfather," he said, "is it to the
Fairy Island you would wish to go, or to
the Blessed Virgin herself?"

The old man looked at him for a time
bewildered, then he said slowly, —

" Sure all good Christians go to the
Virgin, and why wouldn't I go intirely?"

** Because," said Andy softly, and his
face grew more old-fashioned as he spoke,
"because, grandfather, 'tis to the Fairy
Island I am going, and I want you to
come too ! "

My Connaught Cousins. 49

III.

From that day, Andy began to change.
His face grew more pinched and white,
his eyes more luminous, and his manner
more old-fashioned and strange. He still
stood between his grandfathers knees as
he used to do, and attended to the old
man's wants, but his voice was sometimes
a little peevish now, and he would not
speak much to those who were about him.
He seemed to become so discontented at
times that his mother looked at him, won-
dering what could be the matter with the
child. Andy had always been sickly and
white, but he had never been peevish
before, he had ever taken what was
given to him with a good grace. Now
he turned pettishly from his food.

" Mother," he said one day, " why is it
that I eat stirabout ? "

" Sure, you know we have nothing

VOL. III. D

50 My Connaught Cousins.

else in the house to give you, Andy,
erool^ his mother replied.

"Sure, then, I know that same," said
Andy, " but if 'twas in the Fairy Island
I was, they would give me white bread."

His mother crossed herself.

" Never name them, Andy hawn. You
know you are a Christian child ! "

But Andy replied, —

" Maybe I shall be a fairy some day
for all that ! "

There was something very wrong with
the boy, but what that something was none
could determine. His mother looked at him
again and again with an anxious, scrutiniz-
ing gaze, but she could discover nothing.
Cuileagh Clanmorris came night after night,
and smoked his pipe in the ingle, and
looked into Andy's face with those keen
penetrating eyes of his, and as he did
so his thoughts, almost in spite of himself,
travelled back to that Christmas, only a
month gone by, when he had told the

My Connaught Cousins. 51

child the fairy legend, and when Andy
himself had slept and seen fairy-land.

Cuileagh Clanmorris was superstitious, as
were most of the peasantry of Storport,
and, as he thought over these things, he
shuddered. For this hard-working, coarse-
natured man had come to love the quaint
little old-fashioned child. Night after night
now he brought with him lumps of white
bread and gave them to Andy, and as
the child stood between his grandfather's
knees and munched at the bread,
Cuileagh tried to tell him other stories
to divert his mind. But Andy took no
interest in any but one thing, his
thoughts constantly reverted to the old
theme.

" I wonder," he said, one night as he
looked into Cuileagh's face, "I wonder if
fairies always eat white bread ? "

" Maybe," answered Cuileagh ; " they're
dainty people, they're sayin', and fond o'
fiwate things."

52 My Connaught Cousins.

" Then, surely," continued the child,
" they would give me bread too ? "

" If ye were a fairy."

" And grandfather ? "

" Ay, ay," murmured the old man, and
he nodded his head, and looked at the child
with a vacant gaze ; while Cuileagh mur-
mured to himself, "Maybe 'tis a fairy
that he is afther all."

More and more pathetic grew that little
pinched face of Andy's ; yet the paler his
cheeks became, the more peevish he seemed
to grow. There was something very wrong,
indeed, for once or twice Andy spoke even
to his grandfather in a querulous tone.
The old man was dimly conscious of the
change, though he was yet too dull to
perceive exactly what was amiss. He
looked into the child's face with a pained,
questioning glance, whereon Andy grew
gentle again as ever, and the tears slowly
gathered in Ms eyes.

The winter passed thus, and as each

My Connaught Cousins. 53

month rolled away, and the snow was
melted from the ground, and the sun
shone upon the hills, Andy's face grew
whiter and whiter; and when summer
came he lay in a little cot by the kitchen
fire, close to his grandfather's side. He
lay there and thought and thought as he
looked into the fire, or listened to the
monotonous washing of the sea. His
peevishness seemed partly gone now, and
he grew quiet, and gentle, and kind as
his custom was. Oh, yes, he was quite
like his old self, though he looked so
pinched and old, and his little white
hands were as thin and. transparent as his
grandfather's.

Lifeless as the old man generally ap-
peared, he now grew dimly conscious of
what was happening, and his dull, heavy,
lustreless eyes brightened into something
like life as he watched Andy's face. He
seemed to feel that a chilly hand was
drawing the child away, and he began to

54 My Connaught Cousins,

half realise what the loss would be to
him.

Andy could not understand all this, he
was too young. He had been so long
with his grandfather that he did not
dream of parting ; they seemed to breathe
together. His grandfather would never
leave him, he thought, and as to himself,
why, if he became a fairy, grandfather
must become a fairy too ; and as he lay
in his cot day after day, with the summer
sunshine streaming full upon him, he
thought and wondered over all these
things.

" Cuileagh," he said, one day when
Cuileagh had strolled in to sit beside him,
*' are they all little people that live in the
Fairy Island."

" Yes, sure," said Cuileagh gruffly.

" Then must everybody get small before
they go ? "

" Maybe ; but what for do ye ask that,
Andy hawn ? "

My Connaught Cousins. 55

"Because I was wondering how grand-
father will get there. He is so big, you
know."

" Sure 'tis not there he will go at all —
the Holy Virgin forbid ! never spake of it
again, Andy astore."

And Andy never did speak of it again,
but he lay in his cot and grew weaker and
weaker, until at last he seemed to fade
away, and his spirit broke loose, and went
to the Fairy Land.

They laid him out in his Sunday's best,
and the neighbours flocked in to look upon
the small face and sunken cheeks. Grand-
father sat beside the bed, holding in his
bony fingers the child's clay-cold hand, and
gazing upon him in stupefied despair. As
he sat there, only faintly feeling his loss, as
yet too senile to understand that Andy had
gone from him for ever, he saw the people
come and go like waves of a living sea, and
as each person came up to gaze upon the
pale, pinched, pleading face of the child,

56 My Connaught Cousins,

he heard the same words ringing in his
ears, ** Sure, I always knew he was a fairy,
and so he's gone to the fairies at last! "

IV.

The house was very dull when Andy was
taken away. Though he had ever been a
quiet child, his very presence seemed to
bring light and life with it. But now the
merest footfall echoed strangely through the
room, and the roaring of the sea was ever
heard, and the chilly whistling of the wind.
For the summer which had taken Andy
away had faded away too, and another
Christmas was drawing nigh. They had all
missed Andy, and they had all said so —
but one — his grandfather.

The old man lived still.

He had made no mention of the child.
With tearless eyes he had watched them
take him away, and then he had resumed
his old seat in the ingle. There he sat, day

My Connaught Cousins. 57

after day, like a heavy lifeless log ; he never
opened his eyes to speak ; he never raised
his head to look around; and he never
asked for Andy ; but his bony hands were
clasped upon his knees, and his knees were
always apart, as if Andy stood between
them. He never smoked now, because
there was no Andy to light his pipe ; he
seldom took food, because the child was not
there to give and share it ; he never spoke
of Andy, and they thought he had forgotten
him entirely. But one day, as he sat there
apparently lifeless, he suddenly raised his
hand, and put it into the inside pocket of
his coat, Andy's pocket, and drew forth the
treasures Andy had left — a small piece of
white bread, dried now hard as any stone,
some pieces of string, and coloured stones
and shells. These he held in his hand, and
gazed at them with a heavy, stupefied stare,
then his fingers closed over them again,
and they were put back into Andy's pocket
to wait for Andy's coming.

58 My Connaught Cousins.

The old man often repeated this, but the
treasures were saved from the touch of any
other human hand.

Christmas night swept round again, and
the peasantry of Storport hurried over the
snow-clad hills to hear the midnight mass.
In the widow Dunloe's cabin there was no
rejoicing ; the sea still washed on the shore
with that dreary sound which had called
Andy away. The widow Dunloe sat silent,
thinking of the Christmas night, twelve
months before, when Andy had stood be-
tween his grandfather's knees, and listened
to the fairy tale. Cuileagh Clanmorris was
near the fire, smoking hard, but saying no
word, and grandfather sat in his usual way
with bowed head and closed eyes. The old
man was not thinking of Andy, he was now
almost too senile to think at all; but he
had closed his eyes and fallen into a doze.
As he sat thus, something startled him.
He opened his eyes, and he saw standing
between his knees, invisible to all eyes save

My Connaught Cousins. 59

his own, a little bright figure patting his
hand, just like Andy used to do. As the
old man looked the figure turned, and a
little face was raised up to his. It was
Andy's face, grown whiter. The old man
looked again — sure enough it was Andy!
There he stood, just as he had stood a year
ago, and he looked almost the same. He
stood for a moment between his grand-
father's knees, with his eyes fixed upon the
fire, then, still without speaking a word, he
turned gently, pulled open his grandfather*s
coat, and put his hand into the pocket, and
drew forth that hard dried piece of white
bread and held it in his hand, then with
the other he seized the old man's coat.

" Come along, grandfather, come along,"
he said, in his old pathetic tones.

The old man half rose from his seat, and
looked around wildly with glazed, heavy eyes.

"Ay, ay," he murmured, then he sank
down in his seat again, his eyes closed,
and his head drooped upon his breast.

6o My Connaught Cousins.

When the Christmas bells rang out
with a heavy clang for midnight, they
found grandfather sitting in his chair
quite dead. His head had fallen forward,
his hands hung beside him, and on the
floor at his feet lay the crust of bread
which Andy had left. Perhaps Jiis spirit
had gone from the earth to join Andy
on the Fairy Island in the sea.

As Amy finished, still kneeling on the
hearth, with her little hands clasped upon
my knee, all the girls, in a perfect rap-
ture of delight, kissed her; her father
cried, " Well done, little woman," and I,
noticing that her eyes were heavy, lifted
her in my arms and carried her up to
bed, a luxury which she enjoyed hugely.
She clasped her arms about my neck,
and kissed me, for as soon as we got
out of Kate's hearing I promised to send
her a perfect little angel of a dog when
I got back to town.

CHAPTER IV.

ALF-A-DOZEN days of wild win-
ter weather, then the tempest
lulled, the winds hushed them-
selves, the hail and rain ceased to fall;
and I, accompanied as usual by Shawn,
prepared to emerge from the cosy warmth
of the Lodge in search of sport,

*' True winter weather, sir," said Father
John, who had looked in for a minute
or so in passing ; and, indeed true winter
weather it seemed, for the priest's fingers
were blue, and his round handsome face
had also a bluish tinge ; it quickly dis-
appeared, however, before a glass or two
of Jamieson.

62 My Connaught Cousins,

"By the way, Mister Kenmare," said
the jovial ecclesiastic as he rose to go,
** Fm sadly afraid, sir, that that man of
yours, Conolly Magrath, will get himself
into trouble ; 'tis but three nights ago
since he was nearly surprised heading a
Ribbon meeting which was held at the
house of Mrs Timlin ; and only last night,
Fm told, the police entered his cabin
and found a gun which was loaded, and
quietly hidden away. At the time of
the seizure the man was heavy with
the drink — a sore curse to the countrv,
sir." he added in an a.ide to me.-« and ie
set upon the peelers; but they were one
too many for him, since the upshot of
it was that they seized the gun, and
paid Mr Conolly for his resistance. This
morning at daybreak I received a call
to come and give him absolution — I'm
on my way to him now,"

From the leisurely manner in which
the priest had thought fit to obey the

My Connaught Cousins. 63

summon, I imagined that Mr ConoUy
could not be at death's door ; but I,
feeling interested, oflFered to accompany
the priest — ^my uncle, who looked very
grave over the matter, volunteered to
go too ; so we three set oflF together. I
shouldered my gun, and ordered Shawn
to follow, at some slight interval of time,
with the dogs.

We found ConoUy looking rather the
worse for the adventure, but by no
means moribund; he had received a few
cuts about the head and face, and had
lost a considerable deal of blood. He
lay stretched upon the outside of his
bed ; and my uncle frowned as he saw
that he was being attended to by the
republican-minded Mrs Timlin. I was
glad to find matters no worse, for I had
grown to take considerable interest in
Conolly. When Shawn appeared with
the dogs, I follQwed him with a contented
mind.

64 My Connaught Cousins,

What a day it was ! The wind was

certainly lulled to rest, but the fierce

rollers of the Atlantic still dashed wildly in

upon the sand and around the jagged clifiis,

which stood like gaunt spectres, towering up

amidst a chilly shower of foam. But the

greensward above was sparkling with the

radiance of a thousand gems; the air was

crisp and sharp, and the frozen ground

crackled and glistened beneath my feet. The

estuaries were perfectly alive with birds ;

wild duck and widgeon were paddling

leisurely about; the golden plover were

running and pecking on the sand, wild geese

were lighting on the promontory beyond,

and countless sea-gulls were hovering in

the clear frosty air. The long range of hills

stretched in one jet black line along the

clear horizon ; and the tiny thatched

hamlets, which were dotted here and

there on the hillsides, like sea birds

crouching for shelter amidst thick

clumps of purple heather, were thrown

My Connaught Cousins, 65

out and glorified by the clear frosty back-
ground.

I had come out intending to have a day
on the low-lying marshes, among the snipe ;
and I knew that my cartridge belt was
crammed with cartridges loaded with
number seven ; but the sight of all these
birds tempted me, and I suggested that, even
with number seven, we should make a trial
at the ducks.

But Shawn, wiser than I, shook his head.

"'T would be but wasting good powder
and shot, yer honor," said he. " Sure at the
present time they're as wild as wild can be,
and wouldn't let ye come widin five hundred
yards o' them. After a little shpell o' quiet
weather they'll be worth a trial, but not to-
day. Sure your honor would do far better
to keep to the shnipe."

So to the snipe I accordingly kept, beating
the low-lying marshes with a couple of my
uncle's best setters ; and I was rewarded for
my pains ; the frost had drawn them in by

VOL. Ill, E

66 My Connaught Cousins,

dozens, and I managed to make a con-
siderable bag.

We had still another bit of land to beat —
and were about to make our way towards
it ; when we were arrested by three shrill
whistles which reached us from the road.
I turned at once, and saw the figures of a
man and a woman standing together on the
road a few hundred yards away ; the man
was waving his hat, the woman was stand-
ing on the roadside hard by waving her
handkerchief.

" That last marsh will keep," I said, turn-
ing to Shawn. " Fve had enough for to-day,
whistle up the dogs and follow me to the
road ; we'll walk home that way with Miss
Oona."

For I had recognised Oona at the first
glance ; the man I could not identify, but
when I got to the road I saw it was young
Bingley of Gulranny. Both of them had
changed with the changing weather. I saw
Oona for the first time wrapped up in heavy

My Connaught Cousins. 67

furs, and very pretty indeed she looked in
them ; while young Bingley, having dis-
carded the kilt, had his legs completely
covered by a pair of quaintly cut knee-
breeches.

" Jack," said Oona, after I had shaken
hands with Charlie, " we've disturbed you
at your sport."

I hastened to assure her that this was not
the case ; that I had quite finished and
was on my way to the Lodge ; and I fancied
that Oona looked particularly pleased with
the information.

" In that case," she continued, " you will
not mind walking home by the road with
me, will you ? Mr Murray is at the Lodge ;
he and Charlie are going to stay with us
till the morning. Youll not be long
making your call, will you ? " she said, turn-
ing to Bingley ; " we shall walk very slowly
so that you can overtake us."

" No, I sha'n't be long," returned he ;
" but I think — in fact I know, I can't

68 My Conn aught Cousins.

stop at the Lodge to-night ; I must get
home."

He stammered, turned red, and looked
very uncomfortable as he spoke, and it
dawned upon me that there was something
wrong. Bingley looked positively wretched,
and there was decidedly a false ring about
Oona's careless laugh. I noticed, too, that
she, usually the most hospitable of girls,
made no attempt to urge him to remain ;
she seemed somewhat relieved, too, when at
last she found herself free of his company
and walking along by my side.

" Well, Oona," I said, when we were alone,

" what brought over Murray and Charlie

to-day ? "

"They heard that ConoUy was killed,

and they rode over to hear about it."

*^ And they are going to stop all night ? "
" They were ; but I don't know now.

You heard Charlie say he must get home ! "
" He seems to have changed his mind

very suddenly."

My Connaught Cousins. 69

'* Yes — did you have good sport to-day ? "

** Capital. How came you to be on th(^
road with Bingley ? "

" I was walking with him. He had a call
to make on one of his mother's fishermen,
who lives in one of those huts yonder."

" And you volunteered to walk with him?"

" No, he asked me, and I thought I
should enjoy the walk."

" And did you ? "

" Why, of course I did ; don't I always
enjoy walking, Jack ? "

" I am not talking of always, but of now.
Did you enjoy your walk with Bingley,
Oona ? "

" What a question ! " said Oona, laughing ;
" I suppose I should have enjoyed it very
much if I hadn't got tired. Then I caught
sight of you beating the marshes, and I
asked Charlie to whistle you up, which he
did. Any more questions ? "

"Yes, one more. Tell me, Oona," and
I bent down to look in her face, " what

yo My Connaught Cousins.

did Bingley say to you during your walk
to-day ? "

What Oona would have replied, I don't
know, for at that moment our conversation
was rudely interrupted by a wild voice
which spoke rapidly and clearly in the
Irish tongue. We both started; looked
up, and saw at once the cause of the dis-
turbance. I suppose we had loitered, for
Shawn with the dogs had managed to get
well ahead of us ; he now stood in the
road, facing the person, the sound of
whose voice had so rudely disturbed our

That person was a woman whom I now
recognised as having seen once or twice
before during my solitary rambles on the
bog ; a woman who had succeeded on more
than one occasion in arousing my curiosity,
but about whom I had always forgotten
to question my cousins.

She was certainly a lady : her face,
though pinched and worn - looking, and

My Connaught Cousins. 71

white as that of a corpse, bore the un-
mistakable stamp of high breeding. Her
figure was angular, and clad as usual
in black, while her eyes glared like
two wild lights from their cavernous
sockets. She seemed to be quite seventy
years of age. On her left shoulder was
the only bit of colour to be found upon
her, and that looked like a random splash
of blood ; on nearer inspection one dis-
covered it to be a bit of crimson cloth,
ragged and torn, which had been carefully
stitched upon her dress. She was evidently
very much excited, for, as far as I could
make out, she seemed to be pouring upon
Shawn a perfect hurricane of abuse, and
once or twice I fancied I saw her raise her
right hand as if to strike him. To my
amazement Shawn took all this without
a word; he hung his head, shuflBied his
feet, flicked the dog-whip which he held
in his hand, but said nothing. I was about
to hurry forward and ask an explanation

72 My Connaught Cousins.

of the whole affair, when I felt a detaming
hand laid upon my arm, and looking round
I saw Oona, white as a ghost, and trembling
in every limb. She had understood every
word of the wild Irish harangue.

" Don't go forward. Jack,*' she pleaded
earnestly. " It's only Mrs Gregory."

" Only Mrs Gregory ! "

"Yes. She is aunt to Mr O'Neil,
the landlord here. She is a little violent
at times, but after all it's no wonder, poor
thing ! "

" But what have I done to her, Oona ? "

" Nothing, and she is saying nothing
to you, but it seems that the dogs have
been scampering through her potato fields
and breaking down the bines — Now,
don't go forward. Jack ! — ^you might be in-
duced to answer her roughly, and I wouldn't
have that for the world."

I looked at Oona and saw at once that
she was terribly in earnest; her cheeks
were pale ; her eyes full of tears. At that

My Connaught Cousins. 73

moment Mrs Gregory, having said her say,
passed on. Shawn, now holding the offend-
ing dogs on a leash, followed her; next
came Oona and myself.

Both my interest and curiosity were
aroused by this time, and I would fain have
learned more of this extraordinary woman,
but the sound of her voice had thrown
Oona into such a state of agitation, that I
thought it better to turn the conversation
to lighter themes; silently determining
however to elicit the whole story from
Shawn, when next we should find ourselves
together.

When we reached the Lodge a fresh sur-
prise awaited us. Right before the hall-
door was young Bingley on horseback
saying " Good-bye " all round. He looked
rather shamefaced at seeing us, and con-
fessed that he had avoided us by taking
a short cut across the hills. My former
suspicions were certainties now. I knew
he had asked Oona to be his wife, and

74 My Connaught Cousins.

the knowledge of why she had refused
him gave me a better appetite for dinner.

There was a jolly party at the Lodge
that night. Though Bingley had departed,
Murray remained, and from the way he
looked at Aileen it was not difficult to
guess the reason. Father John and the
doctor were there ; both well on in their
cups, and ready with story and song ;
while in the kitchen sat ConoUy, very
much disfigured, but looking happy through
it all, since he had heard that very after-
noon that Mr 0*Neil, on being told of
the seizure of the gun, had been taken
with violent trembling, and had sent word
to the barracks that he must be attended
by a stronger guard of police.

"Sure he's an omadhaun, yer honor,"
said ConoUy contemptuously, as he told me
the story ; " he's no better than a woman,
and not half so good as some. And 'tis
him, and such as him, as own the broad
acres of Ireland."

My Connaught Cousins. 75

I may add, in passing, that it is as bad
for an Irish landlord to be a coward as
a tyrant. They may respect a t3rrant,
even while they hate him — but they will
never respect a coward.

The evening passed away merrily
enough, but just as it was drawing to a
close, a message came to the Lodge for
Kathleen. A little child belonging to one
of the crofters had been taken ill, and
she was begged " for the love of God "
come. The child's father brought the
message : he was waiting in the kitchen
for the answer, Mary said. Kathleen put
on her bonnet and cloak to walk back
with him, but I expressed my deter-
mination to see her safely there and home
again ; so while she was getting ready, I
went to the kitchen to tell the man he
might go.

I said what I had to say, had got half
way back to the dining-room, when I
paused, turned and looked at the man

76 My Connaugkt Cousins.

again. He was about the handsomest man
I had seen since I came to Storport, but
it was not this fact which commanded
my attention so much as the strange,
unaccountable expression on his face.
He was not more than thirty years of
age ; yet his hair was as grey as my
uncle's, who had passed his sixtieth
year, while his bronzed face was marked
with premature lines. When I men-
tioned this fact to Kathleen, she sighed,
and said, " No wonder, poor fellow ! "
but she said no more.

We set out at once, and both enjoyed
our walk. The night was clear — the
air frosty: already the roads were
hardening, while above our heads the
moon, full and clear, sailed in a cloudless
sky. .

We had walked quickly ; but the man
had reached home first, for when
we entered the cabin he was there.
I was not surprised to see Kath-

j

My Connaught Cousins. 77

leen give him a hearty hand-shake, but
I confess I was startled to see her walk
up to a woman who sat on a bench by
the fire with her apron over her head —
take her in her arms, and kiss her. This
action on the part of my cousin made me
look at the woman again. The apron
by this time was removed, and I saw a
face — white, wild, and sorrow-stricken —
yet strangely beautiful. Though she was
evidently only a peasant — and wore the
homeliest of peasant dresses — her little
feet were encased in thick leather boots,
and her hands were delicately and prettily
formed. From her appearance I thought
she might be a lady masquerading in a
peasant's dress. She clung about my
cousin's neck, and sobbed, —

" Oh, Miss Kathleen, I can't bear it.
Sure I can't keep in Storport with Mrs
Gregory ! "

Mrs Gregory again ! I started in aston-
ishment as this pretty, trembling creature

78 My Cannaught Cousins.

pronounced the name of my mysterious
old lady of the hills. " What influence
can Mrs Gregory have here ? " I asked
myself, and having by this time
grown thoroughly interested, I waited
to hear more ; I was therefore rather sorry
when I saw the man come forward and
lay his hands gently upon the girl's
shoulder.

" Rosie, machree^'^ he said, " sure 'tis
not like you to go on like this. Come,
get up, mavoumeen ; Miss Kathleen is
goin' to look at little May ; and here is
the young mashter too, that's come with
Miss Kathleen from the Lodge."

This last piece of news produced the
desired effect. The girl cast her eyes
round the kitchen, and for the first time
saw me standing near the door. She
unclasped her arms from Kathleen's neck,
rose, smoothed back her lovely black hair,
curtesied, and murmured, " You're wel-
come, sir ! " at the same time she drew

My Connaught Cousins. 79

up a form beside the fire, and begged me
to be seated.

I could never bear to see a woman cry,
especially a young and pretty one : and
when I looked into Eose's pitiful face,
I felt inclined to do what my cousin had
done already — take her in my arms and
kiss her. As this was not feasible, how-
ever, I contented myself with taking her
pretty hand, and holding it for a moment
between my own ; then when she drew
it away, I took the seat which she had
offered me by the fire.

Then I saw that Kathleen had gone
towards the bed, and was bending over
a child.

The cabin was a poor one, — about the
poorest on the Storport estate ; but though
it resembled its fellows in most ways, it
differed from them in one. It had the
usual black rafters above, mud floor be-
low ; turf fire on the floor, and cauldron,
ever reminding one of the witch scene in

8o My Connaught Cousins.

" Macbeth." At one end of the room was
strewn a little straw, whiqh I noticed at
once was fresh and clean ; and upon this
reposed the cow, — a few hens were roost-
ing among the rafters, and a fat pig lay-
lazily beside the fire. The only furniture
in the room was a table, a couple of
forms, and a bed ; all as clean and fresh-
looking as new drawn milk ; while on the
bed, between the fresh clean sheets, lay
the prettiest little creature imaginable.

Little May was about five years old,
and though only a peasant's ofispring was as
delicately organised as a little fairy. She
had her mother's black hair and dark
dreamy eyes, and evidently her mother's
excitability, for her little hands were
clammy and trembled nervously. She was
clearly suffering from an attack of some
kind of fever, for her face was flushed,
and her eyes were most unnaturally bright.
Kathleen felt her pulse ; laid her cool hand
upon the child's forehead, then turning to

My Connaught Cousins. 8i

the mother, asked if "May" had been
ttghteaed again.

" Sure enough, Miss Kathleen," returned
Bose, "and 'twill always be the same as
long as we stop in Storport."

Kathleen took the girl's trembling hand.

"Tell me about it, Kose," she said in
her quiet way.

" She was out by herself to-day," said
Hose. " I let her go, for I was in dread
to see her looking so pale, and I thought
no harm would come to her ; when she
was coming home she met Mrs Gregory;
she tried to run away for she's terrified at
sight of her, but before she had gone far
Mrs Gregory seized her, lifted her up —
showed her that red thing on her shoulder,
and told her — and told her — oh. Miss
Kathleen, I can't tell you what she told
her ! "

" Yes, yes," said Kathleen, " I under-
stand. Well, is there anything more ? "

" In troth. Miss Kathleen, then there

VOL. UL F

82 My Connaught Cousins.

is. When she saw May was frightened^
she laughed and clutched her tight, and
walked away with her, and May was too
frightened to move. She carried her ta
the lake in the swamps, took hold of the
back of her dress and held her over the
water, and when May screamed she only
laughed, and said she liked people to feel
what suffering was ; that, if she thought
they wouldn't hang her, she'd throw May
in and let her drown, just for the pleasure
of seeing my face when her dead body
was washed ashore."

I saw Kathleen's brow grow ominously
dark.

"It is shocking, shocking!" she said.
" Well, Rose, I suppose there is nothing
more ? "

" Indeed, miss, and there is. She held
poor May like that, and dipped her over
and over again deep down into the freezing
waters, till, what with the fright and
the cold, she was almost dead ; then she

My Connaught Cousins. 8

*»

threw her on the ground like a dog, and
told her to go home and tell me that Mr&
Gregory had done it."

"Do you know, Eose, this is action-
able ? I think you must summon Mrs
Gregory, and have her bound over to
keep the peace."

To my amazement. Rose trembled more
violently than before.

" No, no, I couldn't do that, miss," she
exclaimed. " I couldn't go into a court.
I — I'd sooner go right away."

"Away from your home and country ^
do you mean ? "

"I do, miss. Sure, what is home and
country to me now? I asked Michael
to-night, and he said he was quite willing
— that it might be better for us to go
to America. There's only the three of
us, you know, miss; we've got enough
money to take us, and I'm sure Michael
would get on."

"Yes, I think he would," returned

84 My Connaught Cousins.

Kathleen. "And so you are willing to
go, Michael?"

" I am, miss/' said the man quietly ; and
Kathleen rose to go.

"Well," she said, "I will speak to my
father about it, and we'll see what can
be done. Meantime, I must piit little May
right for you. I'll give Shawn a parcel
to leave here on his way home."

Michael, as Kate had called him, offered
to fetch the parcel himself, but Kate
assured him it was not necessary. Shawn
had to pass the cabin on his way home,
and he might just as well leave it. Then
we took our leave.

" Kate," I said, when we were well clear
of the cabin, " what has Mrs Gregory to
do with these people ? "

Kate answered my question with
another.

"What do you know about Mrs
Gregory ? " she said.

"Not much. I have met her twice

My Connaught Cousins. 85

on the hills, I think, and to-day I saw
her again, wildly abusing Shawn because
the dogs had run through her potato
field."

"Ah, she is a terrible woman," said
Kate ; " and the marvel to me is that
she wasn't shot down long ago like — ^but
there, it is a long story, and a shocking
story. Jack. I think, now you've seen
Eose, Michael, and Mrs Gregory, I must
tell it you, but not to-night."

During the next three days we were
too much occupied either for me to remind
Kathleen of her promise, or for her to
remember it. Conolly was summoned
for assaulting the police, and but for my
uncle's interference, it might have gone
hardly with him ; as it was, he received
the sentence of a fine — a tolerably heavy
one — ^which my uncle paid, to the great
disgust, as we learned afterwards, of Mr
O'NeU of the Castle.

After this excitement was over, I re-

86 My Connaught Cousins.

minded Kathleen of her promise, and
she told me the story of Eose Merton.

L

"Yer honor, for the love of Almighty
God, lave me in peace this night. My
poor wife is dying, sor— dying wid the
fever that's come to her through lack o'
food ; you'll never have the heart to do
that thing this night ! "

The speaker, a wUd, gaunt, famine-
stricken man clad in the wretchedest of
rags, knelt on the ground, and almost
kissed the feet of the man to whom he
prayed. They were the centre figures of
a large crowd of men, women, and children,
some of them almost a^ ragged and spectre-
like as the supplicant himself. The night
was dark, the f n was ftllmg, and tie wLd
blew coldly upon the saturated rags which
clung to their famished forms : the sky
was jet black overhead, save here and

My Connaught Cousins. 87

there where the lightning played, but the
faces of the crowd which had gathered
iuround the miserable dwelling of James
Merton were faintly illuminated by the
Ixissing and flaring torches of bog fir held
on high by several hands.

But the wild red light was strongest
upon the two principal figures of the
group; James Merton, wild, ragged, and
terror-stricken, crouching upon the ground ;
Mr Gregory, the landlord, cold and im-
passive as marble, towering above him.

When the man made his piteous appeal,
the woe-begone members of the crowd
seemed to hush themselves and listen.
What would the master reply ? Would he
not show one grain of mercy, and leave
this poor wretched creature a few hours
of peace to comfort his dying wife ? They
waited, but he said nothing: one glance
into the cold marble-like face, showed them
what he meant to do.

Mr Gregory was by no means a popular

88 My Connaugkt Cousins.

landlord; indeed his reign had been one
of merciless tyranny — ever since he pur-
chased the estate, and came to dwell in
Storport, now nearly twenty years before,
the air had been fuU of waiUng voices,
and the churchyard rapidly filled with
dead ; hundreds of his tenants had been
turned into living cargo for the American
ships ; while others had been left to die
like beasts upon the road. His motto
was pay, or go. When the rent was not
forthcoming, the tenant was shipped off
to try his fortune in foreign lands; when
the tenant could not be got to leave
the hut, it was razed to the ground.
This system of things had been in
vogue, as I have said, for nigh upon
twenty years, and still Mr Gregory
lived, committing every year fresh out-
rages, fresh cruelties; but he had capped
the most atrocious of 'his deeds that
night, when he had ordered that the
machine of his own invention should be

My Connaught Cousins. 89

carried down to unroof the miserable
hut of James Merton.

Merton was certainly the poorest man on
the Storport estate ; he had begun life badly,
with a piece of laud which was devoid of
all nutrition, and a hut which was likely at
any moment to tumble about his ears ; be-
sides this, he had a fragile, delicate wife, and
a pretty, little delicate-looking daughter : but
he was a hard-working, honourable man;
he tilled his bit of land, and managed every
year to satisfy the demands of the landlord,
voracious as they were. At last, however,
he found he could do so no longer. He
looked at his wife one morning, and started
as if he had looked upon the dead : he
saw the truth. Every time he had laid
his money upon Mr Gregory's table, he
had laid there a drop from the life-blood
of his wife. She had paid the landlord,
but she was gradually but surely parting
with her life. James Merton, rough man
as he was, felt a choking sensation come

90 My Connaught Cousins.

into his tliroat, and he bent above the
turf sods which lay upon the floor, to
hide a few scalding tears. He loved his
wife. Unlike most Storport marriages, his
had been a romantic one, since he had
been content to take to his hearth a
portionless girl, merely because he loved
her : besides this want of dowry, it had
been considered by almost every boy in
Storport that Eose Monnaghan was not
a desirable match. She was too delicate
to work in the fields as other women
did, or to go bare-footed and bare-headed
to face every inclement season of the year :
but it was these very facts which attracted
James Merton, and made the great strong
man love the girl who seemed to him like
a delicate flower; and Eose loved her
husband, and was happy, save now and
then when her delicate conscience smote
her for having brought him no fortune
as other girls brought to their husbands ;
and when she reflected that she could not

My Connaught Cousins. 91

help him as they helped theirs by working
in the fields, and carrying home the house-
hold turf. Still she tried to make up for it
in other ways. She kept her hut as clean
as a palace, she was handy at mending
her husband's clothes, and when she found
that their moderate income was insuflBlcient
to meet the demands, she quietly decided
that since she was the helpless one she
must be the one to sufier ; so although the
stem landlord was satisfied, she felt that
she was travelling slowly the downward
path of life. When Merton discovered the
sacrifice that she had made, he uttered no
word, but instead of going to his work
that morning, he walked over to the dis-
pensary, and had a word with the doctor.
Two days later Dr Maguire called at the hut,
and before he left, he had ordered Eose
Merton to eat meat and drink wine.

Eat meat and drink wine ! where were
they to come from ? Eose knew very well
she could scarcely get milk to wash down

92 My Connaugkt Ccmsins.

the potatoes which were her only food.
She ceased, therefore, to think of the
doctor's advice: but her husband remem-
bered it.

When the rent day came, and the
tenants, according to a rule established by
Mr Gregory, went up to the Castle with
their rent, Merton went with the rest;
his name being called, he entered the
room which had been converted into a
kind of ofl&ce, and placed his little heap
of silver on the table at which the
landlord sat. Then he paused, looked at
the stern face of his master, and turned
about the hat which he held in his
hand.

** Well," said Mr Gregory, " have you
anything to say to me ? "

" I have, yer honor ! "

" Out with it then. My time is precious,
to-day ! "

" Well, yer honor, 'tis just this ; the
rent o' the bit o' land that I have is a

My Connaught Cousins. 93

heap too high; yer honor, it is not
worth what I have to pay ! "

The landlord turned round and looked
at his tenant.

"My good man," he said, "allow me
to tell you that the land is worth just
as much as I can get for it. If you are
not satisfied with it, leave it. I've no
doubt I'd get a little more from some-
body else ! "

" 'Tis not that, yer honor," said
Merton quietly. "I don't want to go, I
only wanted to tell yer honor that the
rent was high."

" And how, may , I ask, did you make
that discovery ? "

Merton paused for a moment: then he
told the truth. He told how his poor
wife had been starving herself in order
to keep her husband right with the land-
lord ; he told of the doctor's visit ; of the
doctor's orders ; and he added, —

"If yer honor would be so good as to

94 My Connaugkt Cousins.

take down the rent, I could maybe get
the things for my poor wife — "

"Then make up your mind once and
for ever, that I shall not do anything of
the kind," interrupted Mr Gregory, im-
patiently. "If all my tenants got re-
ductions on account of sickly wives, I
wonder how my family would live ! No !
you must pay the rent, or go. As for
your wife, I suppose the hospital or work-
house is open to her as well as to others."

He opened the door, hustled him out,
and called in another.

When the next pay day came round,
Merton laid on the table just the half
of his usual sum, and in answer to the
landlord's look of astonishment, he said
doggedly,—

" That's all- I've got, yer honor 1 "

" Then what do you mean to do ? — go ? "

" I do not^ yer honor — ^plaise God, you
shall have the rest of it the next time."

But that time never came ; each pay

My Connaught Cousins. 95

day Merton found he could only send
about the half of his rent to the landlord ;
so one day he was served with a summons,
and a notice to quit.

What was he to do ? The little sus-
tenance which he was able to get for his
wife had not been sufl&cient to eradicate
the seeds of the disease which had been
sown by years of insufl&cient food. Each
day found her worse ; and when the
summons and notice to quit were put
into his hand, she was lying in the bed
slowly dying of consumption, James
Merton thought a while; then he deter-
mined to make one last appeal to his
master. He quietly put the summonses
in his pocket, and sat by the bedside
holding between his the parched and
feverish hand of his wife; when she had
fallen into a doze, he left his little
daughter to watch her, and walked him-
seK up to the landlord's house. The
family had just finished dinner, and when

96 My Connaught Cousins.

Merton was shown into the dining-room he
found Mr Gregory alone, still lingering over
his nuts and wine. If Gregory had looked
up, he would have seen that the man's
face was white and haggard, and almost
desperate in its agony — ^but he did not
look up — ^he continued to crack his nuts,
and sip his wine, and asked carelessly, —

" Well, what is it ? "

Morton drew the papers firom' his pocket
and laid them on the table.

" Does yer honor know," he asked, " that
I have got these ? "

" Of course ! "

" And what does yer honor think that I
can do ? "

"You'll have to do exactly what those
papers say — ^pay your rent or go ! "

" Yer honor, I carlt pay the rent ! "

" Then you must go 1 "

" And I can't do that neither, yer honor ! "

Mr Gregory went on carelessly cracking
his nuts :

My Connaught Cousins. 97

" It's no use coming to me with stories of
that kind," he said, "Fm used to them>
therefore they make no impression upon
me. You ought to know by this time I
mean what I say — ^therefore, if you won't
pay your rent, and won't give up possession
of your hut, you'll be turned out neck and
crop, that's all."

"Yer honor," cried the man piteously,
" think of my poor wife ! "

" Think of your wife ! " returned the land-
lord contemptuously. " If you had done
that yourself she wouldn't be in my power
to-day — ^she'd be lying in one of the wards
of the workhouse ! There, get out, Fve no
more time to waste — I want to have a quiet
evening ! "

And before Merton could think of another
word to say, he found that he had been
hustled out of the house, and was walking
dejectedly home again.

VOL. III. o

98 My Connaught Cousins.

These constant interviews with the land-
lord were changing the man's whole nature,
and as he walked home that day there was
a desperate look about his eyes and mouth
which showed the resolution he had taken.
He meant to defy the landlord. He meant
to let his suflfering wife have at least the
comfort of dying beneath her husband's
roof, with her husband's hands to tend her,
and his voice to soothe.

During the next three days Merton had
no time even to think of the landlord : his
wife grew rapidly worse; and it took all
his care to alleviate the suflfering which
none could cure.

At the end of three days he was reminded
of his position by Mr Gregory himself, who
looked in and asked him if he was ready to
deliver up possession of his hut. For an-
swer, Merton pointed to his wife. She lay
upon the bed, worn to a skeleton ; her cheeks

My Connaught Cousins. 99

flushed with the fever which consumed
her ; her eyes already dim with approaching
death. She saw and heard ; and dying, as
she was, her only thought was for her hus-
band and child.

"Yer honor," she murmured feebly,
stretching out towards him her trembUng
hand, " don't be too hard on my husband,
and my poor little motherless child. It will
be right again for them when I am gone
away."

Without a word the landlord turned and
left the cabin.

Three days later he appeared again, on a
wild inclement evening, which had been
ushered in with biting winds and heavily
falling rain. This time he was not alone :
he had been through the village that day,
collecting rent from some, serving pro-
cesses on others, and razing to the ground the
huts of those who could not be made to go.

lOO My Connaught Cousins.

Since he had come to Storport he had in-
yented a machine which at one fell swoop
could unroof a cabin, and leave the
helpless inmates at the mercy of wind
and rain. The machine had committed
ravages that day: it was night-fall be-
fore it was set down near the hut of
James Merton.

For the most part of that day the poor
fellow had sat like one in a terrible dream,
watching the light of life gradually fade
from the eyes of the wife he loved so well.
When night fell, and he heard the murmur-
ing of the crowd which gathered round
his hut, he walked to the door, saw, and
understood. With a low wail of terror
and misery he staggered forward like a
drunken man, and fell at his master's feet.

" Yer honor 1 " he moaned ; " for the love
of God ! "
. But the landlord said nothing : he shook

My Connaught Cousins. loi

off the man as if he had been a reptile, and
ordered his men to proceed.

The evening had begun badly, but as
every hour advanced it grew worse and
worse. By this time the wind blew as bit-
terly as any wind in winter, and the rain
was mingled with large drops of hail. A
wUd night for those who had food and
shelter — a pitiable one on which to unroof a
hut above a dying woman's head. Yet it
was done that night. Amidst the groans of
the assembled crowd, and in spite of the
piteous pleading of James Merton, the ma-
chine was set to work, and in five minutes
all that was left of the hut was four miser-
able walls.

When dawn broke, over tracks of sodden
bogland and a limitless expanse of sea, it
showed James Merton sitting amongst the
ruins of his hut beside the rain-drenched

I02 My Connaught Cousins.

corpse of his wife. Beside him was his
little daughter, shivering in the saturated
rags which hung about her, and gazing with
wistful eyes at all she saw. For she was
too young to understand; she only knew
that her home was a ruin, and that her
mother was stiff and cold.

11.

Twelve years after the events chronicled
above, amidst the glorious sunset of a lovely
autumn day, a young girl, none other, indeed,
than little Rose Merton, was walking slowly
along the high road which led to Storport.
Rose was now eighteen years of age. She
was tall and shapely, with a pretty face, and
large dark eyes, which, when they gazed at
you straight, had a strange, wistful expres-
sion — the very look which had been im-
planted there that terrible night when she

My Connaught Cousins. 103

sat with her father among the ruined walls
of her home.

The sunset was glowing all round her;
making a picture of the dreary waste ;
picking out the little clumps of purple
heather, the great black turf stacks erected
on the bog, and the ragged figures of men
and women who toiled wearily over the
wastes with creels upon their backs. But
Rose, walking slowly along the road, looked
neither to the right nor to the left, but
kept her eyes fixed steadily upon the
ground as if in deep thought.

Suddenly a hand was placed upon her
shoulder — she gave a half-stifled cry, turned
round, and looked straight into the face of
a man.

" Michael ! " she gasped, trying to force a
smile, and then she held out her hand.

" Why, Rose, what a start I gave ye," said
Michael Jamieson, taking her hand and

I04 My Connaught Cousins.

keeping it ; "I was cutting turf on the bog
yonder when I saw ye pass, — ^but now Tm
done. I mean to walk and have a talk
with ye to-night. But first, Eose, darlin',
won't you give me a kiss ? "

Now, for the first time, the girl raised her
eyes, and glanced keenly at the prospect
about her ; then she answered quietly, with
some nervousness and hesitation, —

" Yes, Michael, if— if you like."

" K I like ! " echoed Michael, putting his
arm axound her and kissing her pretty Kps
again and again; "I should think I did
like, Eose. . . . Why, mavoumeen" he
added suddenly, " what's the matter ? Why
do you turn your face away from me ? "

The girl, still nervous and iU at ease,
answered strangely, —

" It's nothing — ^nothing — "

They were walking side by side by this
time; again Rose's eyes were fixed wist-

My Connaught Cousins . 105

fully upon the ground. The young man
was watching her face,

" Rose," he said presently, " I'm in dread
there's something on your mind. Of late
ye haven't seemed like the bold, brave col-
hen I used to know. WeU, I know, you're
sorely tried at home. Your father's too
much in with the Ribbon boys, mcwhree^
and if he don't mind it's the young mashter
that'll be turning him out of house and
home ! "

The girl started ; then she looked up with
a smile.

" Sure, he'll never do that, Michael," she
said.

" Why not ? "

She laughed rather nervously.

"Never mind, but there's no fear of
that ? '^

"Why not, Rose," asked her companion
somewhat sternly.

I06 My Connaught Cousins.

"Well — because — ^the masther has pro-
mised to be his friend."

He started and grew pale as a ghost.

" Promised I " he echoed ; " who has he
promised ? "

"Me," returned the girl, growing more
and more nervous, " I — I spoke to him."

" You ! " echoed the man, now paler than
before ; " you spoke to the young mashter ? "

" Sure, there was no harm ! " returned
Rose. " Yes, Michael, I spoke to him, and
oh, you don't know how kind he is ! "

" He's a heap too kind when a pretty
girl comes near him."

" That's nonsense, Michael."

"I don't know," returned the young
fellow. " I've heard tales ; but there, what
a fool I am, as if I couldn't trust you
to speak wid the dioul himself. Don't
mind me, Rose, 'tis only my jealous way.
I'll behave better when I've got ye all to

My Connaught Cousins. 107

myself. Rose, darlin," he added, bending a
bit nearer to her, ' * when's the day to be ? "

« What day, Michael ? "

" As if y(m didn't know ; why onr mar-
riage day — ^to be sure ! "

The girl gently withdrew her hand from
his.

" Don't talk about that," she said.

" But I must talk about it, Rose. You've
put me off long enough, and you can't say
I haven't been patient. Come, look me
in the face, machree. Why should you be
ashamed? We've been lovers ever since
we were children, and some day soon we
must be something more."

But the girl positively shuddered.

" Tis foUy to talk of it," she said, " least
of all now.'*

" Why not now, Rose 1 "

" Because the world and God are both
against us. You know I've got no fortune.

io8 My Connaught Cousins,

not so much as a hen ; and 70U — ^you are
poorer than ever now."

The young man smiled, —

" Don't you know what the song says ? "
he answered lightly, " * Sure poverty's no
sin ! ' I don't want your fortune, darlin', I
want but you ; and as to myself, sure enough
I'm poor, but I feel if I had but got you
by my fireside to help and comfort me I
could do the work of three."

"Ah, that's what they all say before
they marry ; but afterwards it's all sorrow
and tears. No, Michael, it can't be. I've
seen too much of it. Look all round us.
Sure there's nothing but trouble and
hunger, and every hut has got more mouths
than it can feed. Why should we marry,
to make one more wretched home ? "

" Rose ! "

" Well, Michael."

" I don't think them words came out of

My Connaught Cousins. 109

your right heaxt Something has changed
you. Some rascal has been turning you
against me ! "

" No, no, Michael," cried the giri hur-
riedly, " 'tis not that,"

"But it is. I've seen it a long time
back. I've said little, but it made my heart
bleed. Kose, a little while ago you didn't
look like that or talk as you ta]k now,
and you used to be as bright as a May
momin', and as kind as a colleen could
be. Kose, what has changed you ? why
do you shrink away when I put my arm
around you, and tremble when I kiss your
cheek? Oh, Kose, Kose, I've loved you
ever since I could think or dream what love
meant, and are you goin* to leave me now ? "

Pale and tremulous the girl turned
towards him and put her little hands in
his ; it was an impetuous movement, which
told him he had touched her heart.

no My Connaught Cousins.

" Michael/' she cried, almost sobbing, " I
love you — Grod knows I love you ! "

He took her hands, held them finnly in
his, and looked steadily into her eyes.

" You love me," he said ; " me, and
no other ? "

"You and no other, dear," answered
the girl, not flinching from his gaze ;
" but, oh| Michael," she added, quietly
drawing her hands away, "don't let us
think of it, we — ^we're too poor. God is
against us ! "

" God's never against true lovers. Rose,"
answered the young fellow steadily ; " and
if your heart's not changed, 'tis His will
that we should come together."

" Ah, no, no ! "

" Rose ! "

" I — I can't bear it, Michael. I can't

face it," cried the girl, now almost sobbing.

* I'm not like other girls ; I think I'm too

I

L

My Connaught Cousins. 1 1 1

weak, and you'll say I'm a coward, but
1 know what poverty means, Michael,
listen to me. Don't be angry, but listen.
Suppose I could help you a thousand times
better by ifwi marrying you, suppose I
could keep not only you, but father, and
everybody in Storport from poverty and
trouble, and all by not marrying you,
what would you say to that ? "

The young fellow stared at her in blank
amazement.

" What do you mean ? " he asked ; " I
don't rightly understand."

The girl turned away her head.

" Nothing," she answered ; "I mean
nothing; I'm silly, and don't know what
I'm saying!"

" Kose," said Michael solemnly, taking
her hands and forcing her to look at him,
"tell me, swear to me, you don't love
another man?"

112 My Connaught Cousins.

*' I don't."

'* Swear it 1 " he repeated, almost fiercely.

" Well then, Michael, I swear it."

" Then if that's true, kiss me, Eose, and
speak not another word o' sorrow or
parting. I see what it is, your father has
been bringing trouble to the house, and
your heart is a bit down. It was the
trouble that spoke, not my own Eose.
£iss me again, moi/voumeen^ better times
will come ; they must come ; but never say
they'll come to us two apart ; for without
you my life would be wasted, and my
heart would break ! "

He folded his arms around her and held
her close, kissing her cheek and lipg, and
Rose, clinging to him as if for protection,
shed a few silent tears. The bright glow
of sunset had faded, and the prospect all
round was growing as sombre as the black-^
poking bog. The lovers walked on, hand-

My Connaught Cousins. 113

in-hand until they reached the hut which
was Michael's home. There they paused,
and he asked Kose to come in, but the
girl shook her head.

" Not to - night, Michael," she said ;
" good-bye."

" Good-bye ! No, I mane to go along
home with you."

Again the girl's agitation returned.

" No, no," she said ; " not to-night. I
— I've a message — I must go alone ; but
you may meet me to-morrow."

" You wish it, daxlin' ? "
Yes, I do ! "

Then so it shall be ; your wlQ is law
to me. I'll try and find out what's doing
among the boys ; mischief, I'm afraid.
Good-night, Kose — good-night."

One kiss and then they parted ; Rose
walking quickly across the bog until she
reached her home.

VOL. in. H

((

cc

114 ^y Connaught Cousins.

III.

The only home which Rose Merton had
ever known was a wretched hovel, built
of moss-covered stones and, mud, and roofed
with sods of turf. It contained but one
room, which was clean and neat, for Rose
had inherited her mother's cleanliness as
well as her beauty. The hut was empty ;
so before sitting down to indulge in reflec-
tions, Rose set about preparing her father's
supper. Her first care was to remove her
bonnet and shawl, and tie on a large
apron of coarse holland; then she stood
for a moment before the old cracked
looking-glass which was nailed up to the
wall, to arrange her pretty black hair.
Then she set to work. She knocked to-
gether the few sods of turf which lay
smouldering on the hearth, filled the black
cauldron with potatoes, lifted it on to the

My Connaught Cousins. 1 1 5

hook which dangled at the end of the
thick black chain suspended from the
rafters, and her task was done. While
she waited for the potatoes to boil, she
sat down on the form which stood near
the fire and began to think.

First she thought of Michael, and of
the interview which she had just had
with him ; then she thought of young Mr
Gregory, the master of Storport.

It was now some time since the young
man, attracted by the girl's pretty face
and gentle manners, had been secretly
paying his court to her. At first Rose,
though certainly flattered by the young
master's attentions, had quietly resisted him,
for she had promised to marry Michael
Jamieson, as handsome and as hard-work-
ing a boy as there was in Storport, but
afterwards, after much mental deliberation,
Rose's mind gradually changed. She knew

n6 My Connaught Cousins,

that despite his steady, hard work, Michael
Jamieson was excessively poor, having
scarcely enough to feed himself and his
old mother who Uved with him; there-
fore it was an indiscreet thing to ask in
marriage a portionless girl like herself.
Besides, she had been somewhat delicately
nurtured, and was therefore not a fit help-
mate for a Storport boy. She had never
been accustomed to work in the fields ;
but by dint of her own sharpness, and
a taste for sewing, she had managed to
gain a little knowledge of dressmaking.
In pursuit of this occupation she went
about from hut to hut, picking up a few
shillings or a meal, and sometimes she
went for a few days to Ballyshanrany
to work for my cousins. But Kose had
never been able to save and accumu-
late a fortune like other girls, for her
father's hut and wretched plot of land were

My Connaught Cousins. 1 1 7

heavily rented, and her father spent a good
deal in drink. Besides the grim pinch of
poverty, there were other things which
made her gradually look less coldly upon
the attentions of the master. The feeling
of revolt against want and wretchedness,
which was gradually spreading over Ireland,
had already touched Storport — ^the village
was known to hold a band of Kibbonmen
in its heart ; and Kose felt tolerably sure
that the leading spirit of the band was
her own father.

At the rising of the people she was not
astonished ; they were desperate men —
turned almost into beasts by years of
cruel oppression, and now they rose up,
like gaunt spectres from the grave, pre-
pared to strike for home and kindred.
Eose was terrified, and for the first time
she asked herself, —

** Why should I not listen to the mas-

1 1 8 My Connaught Cotisins.

ter ? If I were to marry him I could
save them all ! "

It was the first time she had put her
thoughts into words, and the words shocked
her. For she loved Michael Jamieson, and
she did not love Mr Gregory ; therefore,
it required a good deal of mental delibera-
tion to bring her round to the thought
of marrying him. Nevertheless, the de-
cision was ultimately arrived at. Kose
determined to sacrifice herself for the good
of her people.

Suddenly, however, her plans were again
rudely razed to the ground ; for since that
interview with Michael — since she had read
his thoughts and had been prompted to
look into her own heart, she knew that
if she stretched forth her hand to save
her people, her own heart would break.
So now she set to work again to think
it all over, and wonder what she must do.

My Connaught Cousins. 1 1 9

Before she had arrived at any decision,
her father came in.

Those twelve years which had come
and gone * had wrought a wondrous change
in James Merton. His body was bent,
his head snow-white, and his face was
wrinkled.

" You are late, father," said Rose, putting
her arm gently round his neck and kissing
him. Then she turned out the steaming
potatoes, and the two sat down and be-
gan to eat.

" Father," said Rose, presently.

•^ Well, Rose ? "

" I think IVe got some good work
coming. Miss Kathleen was telling me
to-day that Mrs Gregory wanted a seams-
tress, and that she had recommended me."

The man raised his head, and glared
at her like a wild beast.

" Mrs Gregory ! " he exclaimed.

I20 My Connaught Cousins.

" Yes, in troth."

"Then you won't go — do you hear me,
Kose, you won't go ! "

" Not go ! " said Rose, in afitonishment ;
" why not, father ? "

" Because I say so ! " returned the man
fiercely. "Her clothes may rot before
my daughter saves them ! "

To this the girl said nothing. She rose
and began to quietly put away the things,
and as she did so, the tears ran slowly
down her cheeks. Her father saw them ;
he put out his hand, and said gently, —

" Rose, TMLchree^ come here."

She went to him ; he put his arms
about her — drew her gently to his breast,
and with his coarse hand smoothed back
her silken hair.

" Rosie," he said, " my little Rosie, you
mustn't think on what I say. I'm not
the man I was, darlin'. These hard times

My Cannaught Ccmsins. 121

that axe coming to us kind o' stir up the
old sorrow, and sometimes I think I'm
livin' through it all again."

"Dear father," said Kose, as she clung
to him, crying a little, and he kissed her
tenderly again, as he said, —

"Eosie, Tve been thinkin' 0' your poor
mother to-day. 'Twas through old Mr
Gregory that she died. You don't re-
member it; you were too young. Rose,
but he unroofed the house when she was
dying. Sure he's dead now, and I try
to forgive — ^but I can't forget."

Then Rose heard the story of her mother's
death, and her father's wrongs. Shortly
after James Merton left her to think it
over alone.

Half-an-hour after her father had left the
hut, Rose Merton threw a shawl over her
head and went out too, carefully closing
the door behind her. It was quite dark.

122 My Connaught Cousins.

but she knew every inch of the ground
which she had to traverse, and could have
found her way blindfold.

She went straight across the bog, until
she found herself standing in a sequestered
part of the road. Here she paused to
listen — there was no sound — then she
commenced to walk slowly up and down.
Presently her quick ear detected the sound
of other footsteps. She drew aside ; the
footsteps came nearer and nearer; ap-
parently she recognised them at last, for
she came from her hiding-place and went
forward.

" Rose, is it you ? " asked a man's voice,
in a half whisper.

And the girl tripping forward, replied,—

" Yes, sir, it is I."

The next moment she felt herself in
the close embrace of the young master
of Storport.

My Connaught Cousins. 1 2 3

" My pretty little Rose," he said, " Fm
late, infernally late ; but youVe no idea
what trouble Fve had to get away at all.
But now, I am here, 'tis all right. Come,
give me my reward."

Instead of holding up her cheek as usual
for his careless kiss. Rose turned her head
away, and struggled to free heraelf from
his embrace.

" Don't, sir, if you please," she said.

" Why, what's the matter ? " said the
young man, astonished. "Are you angry
with me for delaying so long. Rose ? Come,
come, be reasonable, and give me the kiss
of forgiveness."

But still she struggled and resisted.

" Sir, will you let me go ? " she
cried ; " some one is coming along the
road."

" Nonsense 'tis only the wind howling.
Why, Rose, how cold your little hands

124 My Connaught Cousins.

feeL You're not warmly enough clad
for such weather as this."

"Sure, Tm not cold," returned the girl
uneasily, withdrawing her hands, as she
had withdrawn her body, from his em-
brace. "But I — I want to speak to
you."

" Want to speak to me ? why, of course
you do," returned the young man, with
a light laugh ; " and as to myself, why,
IVe a thousand things to say. Before
I left home to-night I was in a devil of
a temper. But there, I don't mean to
talk about that or what caused it, for
I'm quite comfortable now. Rose, take
my arm."

" In troth, sir, Fd rather walk alone."

" Take my arm ; I insist ! "

" No, sir, 'tis not right. You're a
gentleman, and Fm but a poor girl. We
must never meet again."

My Cannaught Cousins. 125

" Hullo ! " he echoed, in amazement.

" It's true, sir," persisted the girl. " I
came here to-night to tell you that same."

" Kubbish ! " returned the young man
carelessly. " You came here to-night,
you little witch, to give me a few kisses,
as youVe often done before. Certainly
Fm a gentleman, as you say, and you're
not a fine lady ; but for all that I love
you, and I mean to indulge my whim.
Poor ! There's nothing money can buy
which you shall not have, — ^fine dresses,
carriages, servants to wait upon you.
And when you are clothed as your beauty
deserves, show me the lady who'll look
half as handsome as my little Rose ! "

Again he attempted to embrace her ;
again the girl put up her hand to keep
him away.

" Oh, sir, don't talk like that," she cried
pleadingly ; " it was words like them

126 My Connaught Cotisins.

that first made me listen to you, and do
all the hann IVe done. I thought — God
forgive me — 'twould be nice to be a
fine lady, for then I could help my
father, and some of the poor creatures
here ; but now, I know I couldn't do it ;
it would break my father's heart."

" Your father ! what's he been saying —
have you told him ? "

" In troth, sir, I have not. But to-
day he was tellin' something to me.
Sir, Mr Gregory — ^it was your father that
unroofed our hut, and left my mother
to die of cold."

The young man paused for a moment
before he replied.

*'Yes," he said, "I believe he did;
it wasn't a pleasant thing to do; but
whether or not, I don't see how that is to
affect us. You can't blame me for what
my father did. If every man was made

My Connaught Cotisins. 127

answerable for the sins of his relations,
heaven knows how the world would get
on.

" No, sir, Fm not blaming you ; Tm
only telling you that I can never meet
you again, because it would break my
father's heart. Now, sir, if you please,
good-night. Let me go home."

"No," said the young man firmly,

" you sha'n't go — not at least till you ve
promised to meet me again."

" I can't promise, sir. In troth, I
mustn't come — my mind's made up."

" Absurd ! you know I love you."

"Indeed, sir," returned the girl sadly,
" I'm very, very sorry. I humbly beg
your pardon for making you think that
I liked you ; but when you are with
your own friends you'll soon forget me.
Good-night."

He rushed towards her with outstretched

128 My Connaught Cousins.

anns, and some passionate words upon his
lips; when he was startled by heavy-
footsteps on the road. He paused for
a moment. During that moment Kose
passed into the darkness, and disap-
peared.

IV.

While Rose Merton had been having
her interview with the young master of
Storport, the young man himself was
receiving his sentence of death. In a
large underground kitchen, in the house
of the widow Timlin, about half-a-dozen
men were seated — ^wild, worn-out, ragged-
looking creatures, who gazed at each other
in strange intensity, and talked in low,
deep tones. They were all tenants on
the Storport estate — James Merton, and
Conolly Magrath being amongst the num-
ber — while in the kitchen was the widow

My CannoMght Causims. 129

TiTnlin herself a pUegmatic spectator of
all that was taking place. The men
crowded dose together — showing, in the
dimly-lighted chamber, £u%8 of ghastly
pallor — for the time being all their eyes
were tamed upon one member of the
band; the veiy man who had been sent
as an emissary to Mr Gregory, and who
had succeeded in patting that yoang
gentleman into sach a temper before he
went to meet Rose. Slowly and methodi-
cally the man told his tale.

" Well boys," he said, " I went np to
the Castle, and I saw the mashter hisself.
I told him the truth. I asked him, for
the love of God, to take down the rents
a bit, because we were all shtarvin*.
He was just about leavin' the house,
so he kicked me out o' his road as though
I'd been a dog — tould me to go to the

agent, and tried to get away. But I
VOL. m. I

130 My Connaught Cousins.

didn't let him go. I laid hoiild on him,
aad he had to listen."

The man paused a moment, for he
was trembling excessively, and though his
manner was stolid, he was evidently
much excited. Mrs Timlin, wha had
been smoking her pipe in a comer, came
forward, poured out a glass of whisky,
and pushed it towards him.

"Drink it off, Toney," she said, "and
let us hear all that the black-hearted
rascal had to say."

The man took her advice, and went on.
"He wam't over pleased at bein' held,
Mrs Timlin," said he to the widow,
who fixed her black eyes upon him,
and nodded her wild head to encourage
him. "And when I told him that we
was all shtarvin'," — ^he said, so much the
better for himself, it was only clearing
his estate of so many vagabonds that

My Connaught Cousins. 131

was bringin' it lower and lower every
year. "

A groan went through the company,
and Mrs Timlin's face looked positively
gorgon-like.

'' Bad cess to his black heart ! " said
she ; " go on, Toney."

" I tould him we'd all prayed to the
agent in vain, and that now, speakin'
for all of us, I went to him. I begged
him for the love of Almighty God to
come and see for himself if my tale
was true. Boys, he struck me, and
kicked me as if I had been a brute
baste, and when I staggered back almost
blinded wid his blow, he laughed, and
walked away! 'You'll starve quietly in
future, my firiend,' said he ; * and when
you're all over seas — which would be
the best place for you — perhaps I shall
get a little peace on my estate.'

> »

132 My Cannaught Cousins.

There waa a moment of dead silence ;
then a murmur ran round the room.
Before any definite words were spoken,
James Merton rose, —

" Boys," he said, " I want to say a
few words to yon now. You all re-
member, five years ago, you wanted me
to be the man to put a buUet through
the young masther's head ; and when I said
*No,' you thought me a coward, because
you knew I'd good cause to hate the
very name of Gregory. Well, so I had,
God knows, and so I have got now.
They've treated me worse nor the brute
bastes o' the field; and if I'd done
right by myself, I should ha' turned
my back on the lot o' them,, and gone
straight away to Amerikey the day^ I
laid my poor wife in the ground. I
tried to do it, but I couldn't ; I just
went to the mashter, and begged him

My Connaught Cousins. 133

to take me back What did he say ?
Though he knew that my poor wife had
died for lack 0' food, and because he
knew it would break my heart to lave
the only bit 0' land that I loved in
the world, — ^he said, 'Yes, take your hut
and land, James Merton ; but you'll
pay the old rent ! ' Well, I was eager
to get the bit o' land, so I said, *Yes.'
I took it, and from that day till the
day he died I paid him the rent ; though
God alone knows what Fve gone through
to do it. That night he died, I thanked
Almighty God. Then you came to me,
and proposed that I should send the
young mashter along wid him ; but I
said *No,' — I'd got a daughter of my
own, and I thought of his poor mother,
and I couldn't bring my hand to strike
at an innocent man. I said to myself,
* Sure he can't help what his father did ;

134 My Connaught Cousins.

maybe he's got a heart, and will make
amends/ I waited, and I soon found I
was wrong-he waa worse than his fether ;
and when I looked every day on my
miserable neighbours, my heart bled. You
thought old James Merton was a coward ;
you thought he hadn't a heart for ye;
but Fll tell ye what he did — ^he went
up boldly, and spoke to the young
mashter, and he got — just what Toney
got to-day — sent out o' the house as
if he had been a dog. So now I see
what it's goin' to be — starvation and
misery; and I say, * Death to the tyrant
wid the black heart that is sending us
all to the grave ! ' "

Amidst a low murmur of approval,
Merton paused; a good deal of lively
discussion followed; at the end of it Mrs
Timlin, who had been busily at work
in a comer of the room, came forward

My Connaught Cousins. 135

with a little box which she placed in the
middle of the table. Every man present
knew what that meant. Before dipping
their hands into the box, they paused in
strange hesitation. Mrs Timlin bared
her brown wrist, and without waiting for
the others, thrust her hand into the box.

"I mane to have the first pull," she
said, "plase God, I get the lucky number."

Amidst a silence which was almost
death-like, she drew forth her hand again ;
this time her fingers were closed over a
slip of paperJ The box was handed
round ; each man drew his piece forth,
then the box was placed on one side,
and the men showed their numbers. A
piece of paper marked with a black
cross had passed into the hand of James
Merton.

The man started, and as his eye rested
upon the mark, his cheek grew ashen grey.

136 My Connaught Cousins.

But he quickly pulled himself together and
shook the hands of his comrades, one and all,
and by that token he accepted the solemn
trust which he knew he must fulfil.

V.

During the fortnight which followed
that eventful night, there was little
peace and no happiness beneath James
Merton's roof. He drank much whisky ;
he took scarcely any food; he looked the
very ghost of what he once had been,
and when his daughter spoke of this and
tried to learn the cause, he turned upon
her and fiercely bade her be at peace.
If James Merton had been less occupied
with what he himself had planned to do,
he would have noticed the change that
was taking place in Eose. Since that
night when she had said her last farewell

My Connaught Cousins. 137

to Mr Gregory she had never beheld him,
but she knew that things in the village
were growing worse and worse, and she
wondered if she herself was the cause.
The agent was harder than ever on the
tenants, and he acted, he said, under Mr
Gregory's express commands.

Whole families were evicted; others
were cast into prison, and some after
having their houses razed to the ground
before their eyes, had actually starved upon
the roadside. The people said nothing,
but one morning young Mr Gregory was
astonished to receive his sentence of death.
The young gentleman turned pale for a
moment, and, when a little later his agent
came up for orders, he handed him the
paper.

" Say nothing to my mother," he said,
" or she'll worry herself unnecessarily.
Of course I shall send for a guard of

138 My Connaught Cousins.

police for the Castle, and I shall order
one to follow me wherever I go, so I
shall be all right. It must be your task
to see that these ruffians suffer for haying
dared to send me this/'

So the agent went off to obey his master,
while the young master, with characteristic
recklessness, began to think once more of
Bose Merton.

Since that night when she had bade
him farewell, he had done little else but
think of her. Indeed, he was devising
all sorts of means to obtain his end. He
had even planned a false marriage, and
subsequent desertion, when his difficulties
were suddenly solved by Eose herself.
She sent to him and begged for another
meeting. The young man smiled; having
got exactly what he had been longing
for, he ceased to attach so much value
to it ; he only thought that since she had

My Connaught Cousins. 139

been the one to give in, his task would
be the easier.

At the time and place which she men-
tioned, he went to meet her, followed by
the constable, his bodyguard. He found
her waiting, obedient, respectful, and
prettier than ever. But when he came
nearer, he saw that she was pale and
sad-looking, and he attributed this change
to sorrow for himself.

He went up to her and took her hands,
and before she could say a word or do
anything to resist him, he had thrown his
arms about her and kissed her fondly. Eose
disengaged herself from his embrace.

" Sir, — ^Mr Gregory," she said " sure,
it wasn't for that I came here to-night. I
wanted to speak to ye me own self about
the poor creatures in the village."

The young man frowned, and angrily
bit his lip.

140 My Connaught Cousins.

"A deal of love you must have for
me, Eose," he said, " if you come to plead
their cause. Do you know they have
threatened to shoot me?"

" Yes, sir, sure, I know that same."
**And youVe come to say the/11 do it
if I don't give in, I suppose ; well, let me
tell you, my darling, I don't mean to
give in. And as for the threat sent to
me, I have instructed my agent to see
that every man in the village is made
to suffer for it."

" Sir, you haven't done that ! "
" I have, and I hope he'll carry out my
orders."

" Oh, sir, you surely haven't the heart
to do a thing like that. Sure, they're
harmless enough, and they don't want
to harm you — all they want is to save
their wives and little children, who are
just starvin' for lack 0' bread."

My Connaughi Cousins. 141

" Let them starve ! Eose, listen to me.
I want to speak to you. Have you re-
considered your last decision — you know
I love you, Eose, and would willingly share
my home with you ? "

"Oh, sir," cried the poor girl, **I — I
cannot."'

" Eose, don't say that — ^remember Fm
not a man to be thwarted — and it would
be better for you to keep me your friend
than make an enemy of me. Eose, would
you still say *No' if I offered even to
make you my wife ? "

He was thinking of that false marriage
which he had planned, but of course Eose
knew nothing of this, and he expected
her face to be suddenly illuminated at
the brilliant prospect of becoming the
master's bride. To his surprise, however,
Eose stared at him in amazement.

" Your wife ! " she echoed ; " and did

142 My Connaught Cousins.

you not mean to make me your wife all
along ? "

" Our positions are so different," said the
young man uneasily, " I thought we might
have been happy enough without marriage.
There, do not be angry— do not turn away
— ril marry you in defiance of all the world,
I tell you, rather than give you up."

" Sir, let me go ! " she cried indignantly,
trying to free herself from the arms which
he had thrown around her.

" No — ^be reasonable, Eose, hear me ! "

He held her tightly to him — ^but she
stiU struggled.

" I've heard enough, Mr Gregory ! God
forgive me for meeting you at all! But
I'm warned in time. Don't hold me, sir,
for I won't stay ! "

" But I say you shxll stay ! " returned the
young man fiercely ; " who are you to fight
against me, the master of Storport — since

My Connaught Cousins. 143

you won't come with me willingly, you
shall come unwillingly! I won't be made
a fool of for nothing ! "

He put his hand over her mouth to
stifle a scream, and would have dragged
her away ; when suddenly he felt a heavy
hand seize him by the collar and roughly
hurl him aside : he staggered across the
road : while Kose Merton, kept from falling
by the same firm hand which had hurled off
her assailant, looked up, and encountered
the gaze of Michael Jamieson. The young
fellow's face was quite composed, but his
cheeks were very pale ; he looked half
sadly, half reproachfully at the girl, but he
did not utter a word. Meanwhile Mr
Gregory had recovered himself — with a face
crimson with rage he came up to the pair who
stood confronting each other in the road.

" Who is this fellow ? " he asked roughly.

Michael Jamieson still looked at the girl.

144 ^y Connaught Cousins.

" Rose Merton," said he, paying no atten-
tion whatever to the words of the master,
" it's late for a young colleen to be out on
the roads alone. You'd best get home ! "

But the girl trembling violently put up
her hands in supplication.

"Oh, Michael," she cried, "don't be,
angry!"

" I'm not angry," he returned quietly ;
" but do you go home ! "

" That she shall not ! " burst in young
Gregory ; " who are you that order her —
what's your right over her ? "

" The right of an honest man, that won't
see her put upon by a villain ! "

" Fair words, you rascal — "

"I've found out," continued the young
fellow, preserving that sang froid which
gave him a wonderful advantage over his
opponent, "never mind how, that you've
been paying your court to Rose Merton ;

My Connaught Cousins. 145

and when I happened to see the two o' you
come together to-night, I thought I'd watch ;
for Tm her friend, and her father's friend,
and I mane to see she comes to no harm.
Eose," he continued, turning again to the
girl, who still stood pale and tremulous
before him, ** go you home, and leave me
to speak wid this man alone ! "

But the girl again put out her hand
towards him.

" Michael," she said, " sure I can't leave
you here after me ; come with me too ! "

" Whoever you are," burst in young
Gregory again, "you shall not stand be-
tween her and me. No one shall ; confound
you, man, stand aside, or I'll make you ! "

" I won't shtir ; that's your road, sir, this
is hers ! "

" Then take that ! "

He lifted the cane which he held in his

hand, and struck him across the face. Eose

screamed. Michael struck the cane from his

master's hand, and they closed in a fierce
VOL. ra. K

146 My Connaught Cousins.

embrace ! By this time the policeman, who
was ever on the track of the young man,
and who had consequently been a witness of
all that had taken place, thought it about
time that he should interfere. He came
forward, and pulled the men asunder,

" Hullo ! " he said, " what's aU this ? "

*' This ruffian has assaulted me I " cried
Gregory.

" Are you hurt, sir 1 "

" No, not in the least."

The man laid his hand on Michael's
shoulder.

"Shall I lock him up, yer honor?" he asked.

But Rose Merton suddenly stepped for-
ward, and almost threw herself at the
master's feet.

" Mr Gregory," she cried, " no ! no I "

He hesitated for a moment, then he re-
plied, —

" No, you may let him go ! I struck him
fl«t. and, after all, I've go! it in my power
to puniBhhim in my own Mnon. Ton

My Connaught Cousins, 147

scoundrel," he added, turning to Michael,
" Rose shall fare no better for your in-
solent interference, I promise you ! Good-
night, Rose."

He kissed the tips of his fingers, and
walked off, while Michael, struggling in the
arms of the policeman, cried, —

" The black-hearted villain ; if he dares
to look at Rose Merton again, before God,
ril have his life ! "

" Keep still," said the man, holding him
firmly ; " and as for you, my girl " (turning
to Rose), "you'd best be off; sure, youVe
caused trouble enough already."

" Michael," asked the girl humbly, " shall
Igo?"

" Yes, go."

** Then — then, good-night, Michael.**

" Good-night."

She lingered for a moment, half hoping
he would say more, but he did not, so she
accepted her punishment, and walked quietly
away ; but once she was out of sight and

148 My Connaught Cousins.

hearing, she sat down upon the road-side
and cried bitterly.

Michael tried to take the road which
Mr Gregory had taken before him, but the
policeman stopped him.

" Come, not that way ! " he said.

** Don't be afraid, Fm cool now ! "

" All the better for you ; but all the
same, you'd best get home and sleep it
over."

During the few days that followed, Kose
Merton neither saw nor heard anything of
her lover. She went to her work every
day, but when she returned at night there
was no sign of him upon the road ; nor did
he come to the hut, as had been his custom,
to spend a few of the evening hours with
her. It was evident he had not forgiven
her, she thought, and so she sat at home,
watching and waiting — the picture of misery
and despair.

But Rose was wrong. Michael loved her

My Connaught Cousins. 149

too well to hold out against her ; but he
had other things to occupy his mind, for,
true to his promise, young Gregory was
punishing him in his own fashion. The
very day following the attack on Mr
Gregory, Michael Jamieson had been served
with a summons for rent, which was only
just due, together with an intimation that
from that day forth his rent would be
raised, which was equal to a notice of
ejectment. He had received them both
without a word of protest, but he began
at once to think what he must do. He
had not much time to lose, since he was
to answer both at the sessions, which were
regularly held on the day of the monthly
fair at Gulranny.

VI.

The Gulranny Fair, which was held on
the first day of October 18 — , was destined
to be a day made memorable to every

150 My Connaught Cousins.

tenant of Storport. From dawn the little
village was astir, for nearly all the inhabi-
tants had to journey to the town, to drive
in their remaining live stock for sale, and
answer the summonses which had been
served upon them. Gulranny lay some
ten Irish miles from Storport, therefore
the foot passengers had to start early, in
order to be there to meet the agent before
the opening of the court. It was quite
nine o'clock, however, when my cousin
Kate, standing at the Lodge door, saw the
agent drive along, attended by his escort
of police, and take the Gulranny road,
and about half-an-hour later Kate was
called to the door again, she said, by
one of the girls, to see the grand car and
pair of horses, running tandem, which young
Mr Gregory was driving into Gulranny.
His mother was seated with him on the
car, as well as a man-servant, and a police-
man in plain clothes. For though, since
the receipt of the warning, no attack had

My Connaught Cousins. 151

been made upon young Gregory's life, he
deemed it prudent to keep his bodyguard
in case of danger.

*' During that morning," continued Kate
as she told me the story, " I had to make
a few calls upon my patients. I was struck
by the strange silence and deserted look
of the village, and a sort of terror crept
over me ; a kind of foreboding, I think, of
what was to take place. After I had paid
my visits, I took a walk round the village,
and noticed the ruins of one or two huts
which Mr Gregory had recently had pulled
to the ground. Upon the ruins of one sat
an old man of ninety, staring stupidly about,
as if stunned by the blow which had be-
fallen him. Upon questioning him, I dis-
covered that his but had been converted
into a ruin two days before; that he was
penniless, homeless, and friendless ; and that
he had nothing to eat but the few potatoes
which the neighbours had given him. I
went to a hut and arranged that he should

[52 My Connaught Cousins.

be taken in and fed ; then I walked on
to the hovel which was inhabited by James
Merton and his daughter Eose. I found
that Merton had gone to the fair, but Rose
was at home. The wretched room was clean
and neat as usual, and Eose was seated on
the bed mending her father s rags. She
looked sadly pale and worn, and when
I questioned her as to the cause of her
trouble she only cried, and said that it
was nothing. I asked her to come up
to the Lodge and spend the day with
our servants, but she refused ; so at
last, reluctantly enough, I got up to
go, and left her to pass the rest of the
day alone."

Meanwhile what was going on at the
fair ? Among the foot passengers to Gul-
ranny that morning had been James Merton
and Michael Jamieson. Michael, knowing
that Merton had to answer a summons, had
called for him, and proposed that the two
should walk into town together. During

My Connaught Cousins. 153

that minute he had been at the hut he
had seen Rose, and the sight of the girl's
pale cheeks and wistful eyes made him
feel bitterer than ever against the man
who had come between them.

They had plenty of company on the road,
but when they got into the town they
found the crowd immense. The little streets
were thronged with men and women, who
were driving in their last remaining live
stock to be sold for the rent. A little
before noon young Gregory drove in his
tandem, scattering the ragged crowd about
him like so much mud. He drove up to
the door of the principal inn, and alighted.
He took his mother to a private room,
and went himself to the one where the
agent sat. He did not go before he was
wanted. The miserable tenants, dreading
a court of law almost as much as they
dreaded the workhouse, had been driven
to make one last appeal. They had sought
out the agent — laid their cases before him,

154 My Connaught Cousins.

and begged him to take half of their debt,
and he, having one grain of humanity in
him, had promised to lay their cases before
his master. He did so, and the masters
answer was, — " No, they'll pay up, or go !
ril have my land, or the money for the
land, if they die for it ! "

When the answer was given, James
Merton stood amongst the crowd. He
looked at the upturned faces of the people —
he heard their low murmur of heartrending
despair ; he saw a few scalding tears blind
many eyes, and as he was about to turn
and walk away, he heard these words
whispered into his ear, —

**Kemember, James Merton, yovHre the

man."

During that day, young Gregory strolled
aimlessly about the town, while his mother
was doing her shopping. He was about
to return to the inn to rejoin her at lunch,
when, in passing across a deserted square,
he came face to face with Merton. He

My Connaught Cousins. 155

paused, for something in the man's face
attracted him, then, without a word, he was
about to pass on. But Merton stopped him.

" Yer honor," he said, respectfully touch-
ing his forelock, *' I want one word wid you."

"Who are you?" returned the young
man superciliously. ''I think I know
your face."

" Tm James Merton, yer honor."

Gregory started.

"Rose's father," he thought, "but for
all that a dangerous ruffian, if what I hear
be true. — Well," he added aloud, " what
do you want with me ? "

" I've come to speak to you, sir, on
behalf o' the tenants."

The young man shrugged his shoulders
impatiently.

"My friend," he said, "I've heard so
much of that subject lately that it is
beginning to get rather uninteresting to
me. Besides, this is neither the time nor
the place to discuss it. Stand aside ! "

156 My Connaught Cousins.

But the man doggedly kept his place.

"Only one word, sir. I humbly ask
one word," he said. "We're starvin' —
man, woman, and child."

" And serve you right ! you won't go."

"No, sir, we won't go!" cried the man,
his face for a moment lighting up into
positive fury. " We can't be turned out
like brute beasts to die in a foreign land.
We were born here, Mr Gregory, and all
we ask is to be allowed to live and die
here, on the bit 0' land we love. You're
rich, sir, and we're poor, and we ask you to
take down the rents that we may have
food. It's not for ourselves we ask it,
but for the wives and little children that
are dying wid want and cold. There be
other mashters in the county that would
give in if you would give in, but I know
you are among them that hould out the
hardest."

" Yes," said the young man quietly,
*«yOu are right. Had I my will, there

My Connaught Cousins. 157

would be no concessions in the country.
I'd starve you into good behaviour ! "

" We re starved already, sir ; be merci-
ful. It would he better for you ! "

" What do you mean ? " said the young
man, turning nervously upon him.

*' Only this ; our blood's up, and there's
no knowing what we might do if you
.went too far ! We are desperate men."

'* Desperate fools I If the law allowed
it, I'd have you whipped into good be-
haviour ? "

" You would ? "

" I would. Good-day."

He turned, and would have moved on,
but Merton clutched him fiercely.

*'Stop,' he cried, ''IVe not done wid
you yet."

" What ! "

" You'd better listen ; you'd better hear
me out, Mr Gregory. Once more I say
it would be better for you ! "

" Do you dare to threaten ? "

158 My Connaught Cousins.

" And if I do ? I'm not one to threaten
what Fm afraid to do."

The young man turned fiercely upon him,
but for some reason he suddenly changed.

" My good man," he said, " I must re-
quest you to master your temper, or it
will certainly get you into trouble before
long. And now, in return for your lec-
ture, let me give you one bit of advice.
If you really want some concession from me,
ask yofwr daughter to plead your cause."

" My daughter ! " exclaimed Merton,
staring wildly at the speaker ; " what d'ye
mean ? "

"Just what I say. There, I've heard
enough of your whining ; but, if you really
want concession, send pretty little Rose to
me — and — we shall see ! "

This time he did walk away quietly,
puffing his cigar as he went, while Merton,
who had been powerless to put out a hand
to detain him, watched him with wild and
wondering eyes.

My Connaught Cousins. 159

"What did he mane?" he murmured,
gazing at the spot where the young master s
form had disappeared. " Why did he talk
like that o' my Rose, wid that look in his
eyes, and that wicked smile on his face ? I
know, God help me ! His father killed her
poor mother, and now he'd do worse to the
child she left behind. Cold-blooded, piti-
less cur I why should he live to break more
hearts? He's spoken his own death-war-
rant, this day I "

Early in the afternoon the handsome car
belonging to Mr Gregory was driven round
to the door of the inn. Mrs Gregory — a
tall, aristocratic-looking woman of sixty,
was somewhat astonished at this early de-
parture, but when she heard that her son
wished for it, she said no more. She was
by no means an estimable old woman, — she
was heartless and cruel enough to the world
in general, — and she had never been kindly
enough to question the cruelties which she

i6o My Connaught Cousins.

knew were regularly practised on her son s
estate; but she adored her son, indeed it
was said he was the only thing she had ever
been known to care for.

When, therefore, he gave his orders, she
never questioned them ; and, though she
would fain have stayed a few hours longer
in Gulranny that day, she said nothing, but,
when the car was ready, she quietly and
proudly took her seat by her son's side.

In truth, Mr Gregory had deemed it ad-
visable to make an early departure from
Gulranny that day ; for, since his interview
with James Merton, and his subsequent
sight of the faces of certain of his tenantry,
he by no means looked forward with pleasure
to the prospect of a dark drive home. But
he said nothing to his mother, — it was also
the fear of frightening her which made him
neglect to provide himself with an extra
escort of police.

Thus they drove out of Gulranny before
the day's proceedings were nearly over, and

My Connaught Cousins. i6i

certainly before the daylight had eveii com-
menced to fade.

• • • • •

About seven o'clock that night James
Merton, a very weary, worn-out man,
walked quietly into Storport. He was
astonished to find unusual commotion going
on in the village, — certain figures ran hither
and thither, others stood in little groups
about the road, — while around the house
of the landlord gathered a great crowd.
There was certainly something the matter,
and, before going to his hut, though he was
sorely worn out, Merton walked on to dis-
cover the cause of the commotion. He
had made one or two inquiries, and had
learned the fact that the young master
was shot — when he came face to face
with my cousin Kathleen. On hearing
the news, she had hastened down to the
Castle to see if she could do anything
for Mrs Gregory — she was now about to
return home.

VOL. IIL L

1 62 My Connaught Cousins.

" This is a shocking aflFair ! " said Kath-
leen, in answer to Merton's " good day."

"They tell me the young mashter's
cfead/" returned the man, looking quietly
at her ; " is that true. Miss Kathleen ? "

" Quite true," returned Kate ; "he was
shot this afternoon as he was driving home
from the fair ! "

"Was he shot dead^ miss — or did he
spake before he died ? "

In recalling this conversation afterwards,
Kathleen remembered the peculiar, half-
trembling eagerness of the man's manner —
at the time she was too much excited to
notice it at all.

" No, he did not speak," said Kathleen ;
" he was shot through the head, and he fell
dead upon his mother's shoulder. Think
of that ! I wonder she didn't faint or die
with the shock — ^but she just clasped her
arms around the body — and kept it so
while her frightened groom drove the horses
on to the Castle 1 "

My Connaught Cousins. 163

" But, Miss Kathleen — the man that done
it — didn't they try to catch the one that
fired the shot ? "

"Yes, of course they did," returned
Kathleen, " and he is very likely in custody
by this time. You see, when the shot was
fired, the horses took fright and bolted —
but, as soon as they could be pulled up,
the officer who was on the car leapt down
and pursued the murderer. I hope it isn't
a Storport boy ! "

"Miss Kathleen," said Merton quietly,
** young Mr Gregory was a pitiless man."

" I am afraid he was."

"Then, maybe, afther all, perhaps 'tis
better that he should be sent away ! "

" Don't say that, James Merton. Look at
it whatever way we will, this murder of the
young man was a cruel and shameful act.
Think of his poor mother, — whatever he
was, she loved him, quite as fondly as you
love your Rose, — and to have him shot
dead at her side — to have his warm blood

164 My Connaught Cousins.

scattered over her body — to see him happy
and bright one minute, and the next a
hideous corpse. No, look at it what way
we will, there is nothing can justify thxxt ! "

" No," said Merton, looking at her with
a strange, wild light in his eyes ; " that's
what they all say when the poor down-
trodden creature puts out a hand to
strike the tyrant that has been torturing
poor souls for years ! Say she does
suflFer — isn't there others that suffer too ?
Hasn't the poor man got a heart the
same as the rich to feel for his kith and
kin. I tell you, Miss Kathleen, she's a
pitiless woman, just as he was a pitiless
man. What did she care for the cries
o' the starving creatures about her, so
long as her son was safe, and knew
nought o' sorrow or pain ; and now the
pitiful cry is all for her, not for the poor
creature who has been starved and tor-
tured into doin' what he's done."

He turned and walked away ; pushing

My Connaught Cousins. 165

his way through the crowd, and looking
neither to the right nor to the left, until
he gained his hut. He found the place
empty and in darkness. He lit a rush-
light which was fixed in a bottle stand-
ing on the table ; then he sat down on
a form, and covered his face with his
hands. He was trembling all over
by this time — not with cold, but with
some inward sinking of the heart. He
fancied he could hear the low moans of
a suffering woman. . . . The sound of
a footstep coming across the threshold
made him raise his head. Looking up, he
encountered the eyes of his daughter
Rose. . . . She was pale as a corpse . . .
she was trembling violently, — with a low
moan she tottered across the room, and
fell at her father's feet.

" What is it. Rose ? " he asked, almost
roughly ; " are you^ too, coming to ask me
to pity the tyrant that's been sent to his
last account ? "

1 66 My Connaught Cousins.

The girl raised her head and stared
into her fathers face with mingled terror
and pain.

** Father," she said, " don't you know
who done it ? "

The man started, and almost pushed
her away.

*' How should I know ? " he said.

" God, help me ! " cried the girl,
with a fresh outburst of grief. " Father,
it — ^it was Michael Jamieson — ^him that I
love so well."

. VII.

Yes, it seemed all too true. On the evi-
dence of a gun found on the very spot
where the murder was committed, Michael
Jamieson had been seized and handcuffed
as he had been quietly walking home
from Gubanny Fair ; and Rose Merton,
standing on the lonely Storport bog, had
seen her lover dragged past her on his

L

My Connaught Cousins, 167

way to prison. The poor girl, utterly be-
side herself with terror and pain, had
shrieked out, and rushed towards him ;
but she was roughly hurled back.
Michael Jamieson, they told her, was
going to be tried for murder — for the
murder of the master of Storport.

This was the story which Kose sobbed
forth, kneeling at her father's knee ; and
as James Merton heard, he became like
one stricken unto death. A fortnight be-
fore he had, with the money supplied to
him by Mrs Timlin, purchased that gun
from Michael, and since then — until that
very day — it had been kept secretly hid-
den at the inn. After the fatal shot had
been fired, Merton, eager for self-preser-
vation, had fled, and forgotten the gun,
which he left lying on the ground.

He had been quite ignorant of the
fact that Michael's initials were en-
graven on the stock. But this fact had
been quite enough to implicate Michael,

1 68 My Connaught Cousins.

and, despite his firm protestations of
innocence, he was detained a prisoner.
It was a trying time for Rose Merton,
for somehow or other it got whispered
about that she was the cause of the
affair. Everybody knew that Michael
was not mixed up with the Ribbon boys,
and now that things had gone so far, the
policeman who had been young Gregory's
constant escort, told of the meeting he had
witnessed between Rose and the young
master — of Michael's interference — of the
quarrel — and of Michael's threat to take
the young master's life. So these things
got whispered about, and soon Rose
Merton found she could not even cross
her threshold in peace.

Two days had passed, and Michael still
lay a closely - guarded prisoner in the
barracks. Rose had made one or two
attempts to see him, but had been de-
cidedly refused.

Meanwhile things were going forward

My Connaught Cousins, 169

at the Castle. The inquest had been
held, and at last, with much pomp, the
body of the young master was conveyed
to the family grave. Nearly ^ all the
tenantry had turned out to watch the
grand hearse and coaches go by — but
Merton sat at home. He was looking
with heavy eyes into the fire, thinking
— not of the murdered, but of the living
—of Michael Jamieson, whom he well
knew was to be tried for a deed which
he had never done.

" They'll never hang him," he muttered ;
*' no, no ; there's no evidence against him,
and he'll come out a free man. If I didn't
know that I think I should give myself up
and tell all ; but no, they'll never take
Michael's life. I've enough blood on my
soul already — enough without poor Michael's.
I can't take bite or sup, and at night I can't
sleep for thinkin' 0' what I've done ! "

He shivered all over ; he covered his face
with his hands and moaned. All was quiet

170 My Connaught Cousins.

in the cabin ; but he could hear the faint
echo of the murmuring crowd without, and
he knew that the murdered body of the
young master was being taken to its last
home. White and wild, shaking now from
head to foot, he rose, staggered across the
kitchen, and shut the door. But the
sounds still crept in, and above the keen-
ing of the crowd he seemed to hear the
mother sobbing. With a cry he stag-
gered back, and fell once more into his
seat.

" God, why did I do it ? " he moaned.
" I might ha' known the deed would curse
me and drag me down ! Sometimes I feel
a kind 0' yeamin' come upon me to go and
give myself up and end it all — but I can't
— I daren't — for Rose's sake ; yes, and for
the sake 0' that other Rose who gave her
to me wid her dyin' breath. Oh wife,
wife ! you were like an angel on this dark
earth ; and now maybe you*re somewhere
up yonder among the good folk in heaven,

My Connaught Cousins, 171

mournin' and grievin' over the deed yoiir
man has done ! "

His body was shaken now with sobs and
tears ; he covered his face again, and sat
crying like a little child. While he sat thus
the door was gently opened, and Rose came
in. She had been crying too, for she had
been standing alone on a desolate part of
the bog watching the funeral procession as
it made its way through the village, and
she had been stricken to the heart, believ-
ing, as she did, that she was partly the
cause of the murder. So she had covered
her ears as if to shut out that low moan
which haunted her, and had walked sadly
home. She had pushed back the door
so gently that her father had not heard.
Noting his troubled attitude, she went
sympathetically forward and laid her
hand gently upon his shoulder.

" Father ! "

" Eh ! what's that ? " cried Merton, start-
ing wildly to his feet.

172 My Connaught Cousins.

" It's me, father — Rose ! "

" Rose ! my daughter ? " he echoed, staring
at her ; " why — ^why do you come on me so
sudden ? I did not see you."

He was trembling like an aspen leaf, and
his pale face was bathed with perspiration.
Rose turned quietly away.

" Father," she asked presently, " is there
any news ? "

^' 0' what ? "

" Of poor Michael ? "

" I don't know. Sure I've been too
worried to ask. What are you cryin'
for ? Give me my dinner."

" Yes, father."

She crossed quietly to a square wooden
chest, lifted the lid, and took out their
dinner, — a few cold potatoes and a bowl of
milk, and set it on the table ; then she
took her seat in a corner of the room out of
her father's sight. For, despite her efforts to
suppress her grief, her tears still flowed fast,
and her throat was convulsed with sobs.

My Connaught Cousins, 173

" Eose." .

" Yes, father."

" Is there any drink in the house ? "

The girl sadly shook her head. Where
was the money to come from, she asked
herself, when she could not even buy
bread.

" Then go and fetch some," he answered
roughly. "No, stay, I'll step down to
Widdy Timlin's myself. Eose," he added
softly, extending his hand towards her,
" Eosie, machree, don't take on so. It
breaks my heart to see you. 'Twill all
come right in the end."

Encouraged by her father's gentle tone,
the girl came forward, and, sobbing passion-
ately, threw herself at his feet.

" Oh, father, father," she moaned, " I
can't help it ! Sure, don't I know 'twill
never come right till Michael's cleared ! "

" They'll never dare to harm the
boy!"

" Ah, father, 'tis not altogether that I'm

1 74 My Connaughi Cousins.

thinkin' of," returned the girl ; " whatever
they do to him there'll be the guilt on
him, and he'll never be free o' ihoA ! He's
shed blood, and God will never forgive
him ; and God will never forgive me my
wicked share I "

** Maybe, afther all, he's innocent," said
Merton, watching her quietly. In a moment
her face was irradiated.

"Oh, if I could only believe that!" she
cried ; " but no, father, all the folk say he
did it ; and isn't there his own gun to prove
that he did? He's a murderer, father, —
think o' that ! — a man all good folk hate —
a thing scorned and hated by men, and
outcast from God, — with no blessing in this
world, and no hope in the next, — an evil
thing, with Cain's mark always burning on
his guilty brow I "

The girl had spoken impetuously, in a
wild kind of shuddering horror ; as she
ceased, her father grasped her hand with
a grip of iron.

My Connaught Cousins. 175

" Rose ! " he almost shrieked, " say no
more — I can't listen — "

"What ails you, father?" said the girl
in amazement.

" You re too hard on the boy. If he
done it in anger or in drink, God may
forgive him yet."

" Never, never ! "

" It's a lie ! " shrieked James Merton,
roughly throwing her hands aside. ** Who
are you, to speak in the name of Almighty
God ? It turns my heart sick to hear you !
Have you got no pity ? "

"God knows I have," returned the
girl quietly; "pity and love too; and,
when I think o* poor Michael, my
heart bleeds ; but, father, I can't help
thinking sometimes on him that's dead*
It was very cruel, — he was only a boy,
with all the world before him, — and the
murderer's hand struck him down in
his strength before he could even say a
prayer 1 "

176 My Connaught Cousins.

With a wild moan James Merton fell
back half-fainting in his seat.

" Water," he moaned, " give me a glass 0'
water ! "

" Here, father."

" Loosen my neckcloth, Eose. I'm a bit

faint."

With trembling fingers she undid the
kerchief which was knotted around his
throat, and set his coDar free. She held
the water to his lips, and with her apron
wiped the cold sweat from his brow, and
gradually he recovered. His face was still
ashen grey, his lips livid, his eyes large and

wild.

"Eosie," he said tenderly, "I think
I'll lie down a bit, for I'm clean tired

out ! "

The girl put her arms around his neck

and kissed him.

*' Sit down and take your dinner, father,"

she said.

" No, mavoumeen, I can't eat ; I'm sick

My Connaught Cousins. 177

and tired — ^heaxt. sick, wid all this trouble.
I — I — think m lie down on the bed and
rest a bit, Rose. Give me a kiss, machree /"

" Yes, father."

She held up her face towards him, and he
kissed it tenderly.

" Good-night, my Rose," he said.

" Dear father, good-night."

He gently released her from his arms
and staggered across the floor. Having
reached the door which led into his little
bedchamber, he paused and looked back.

"Rose," he said, and his voice was
broken, as if with suppressed tears ; " Rosie,
machree, when you were a little child, you
used to fold your hands and say a pretty
prayer your poor mother taught you. Do
you ever pray now ? "

" Every night, father," answered Rose.

" For — ^for your poor mother — and for all
your friends — "

" And for ycm^ father, too."

'' Ah, you shall teach me to say it some

VOL. ffl. M

178 My Connaught Cousins.

day, Rose — ^maybe 'twill make these bad
times mend I "

He turned, entered his room, and left his
daughter in the kitchen alone.

When he was gone, Rose quietly put
away the food which he had left untasted';
then she sat with folded hands before the fire.

" Poor father ! " she murmured sadly,
glancing towards the door of the room
where he lay. "This trouble's preying
sorely on Aim, and he's growing thinner
and greyer each day. It makes my heart
bleed to look at him, and to know how
little good I am to help him now, — for I
can't work ; my heart's too full. Day and
night I'm thinking o' poor Michael I
can't believe but he did it ; he was so mad
against the young master ; he swore, in my
own hearing, to have his life, and all on
account o' me 1 Oh, Michael, Michael ! if I
only knew how to help you ! — ^if I could only
comfort you in all this trouble that's come ! "

She rocked herself to and fro, giving

My Connaught Cousins. 179

vent to the grief which was well-nigh
killing her, but which she only suflFered to
master her when she was alone.

Suddenly she heard herself called.

" Rose, Eose ! *'

She started up. It was her father calling
her from the inner room. She hurriedly
dried her eyes, and ran across the floor.

" Yes, father ! " she replied, crossing the
threshold of the bedroom, then she paused :
James Merton, fully dressed, had thrown
himself wearily upon the bed, where Jie
lay in a deep sleep. But his sleep was
troubled ; his breathing was laboured ; now
and again he muttered some words, and
put up his hand, as if to shield himself
from danger.

" Poor, poor father ! " murmured the girL

She went forward, bent tenderly above
him, and gently smoothed back the threads
of silver hair which lay cold and clammy
upon his brow. At that the sleeper moved
again and seized her hands.

i8o My Connaught Cousins.

" Rose, Rose," he cried, " don't take on
80, Tnavcumeen, and I'll tell ye all, /
hilled the mashter ! I shot him dead ! — do
ye hear ? — dead, wid Michael's gun ! "

He moaned and turned on his pillow,
but the girl did not move ; she stood, as
if suddenly turned to stone, gazing with
horror-stricken eyes at the haggard face

of her father Presently he moved

and spoke again.

" Rose," he murmured, " Rosie, machreej
don't cry or it'll break your poor father's
heart. I never meant trouble to come to
you, and I thought if he was dead^ we'd
maybe have brighter ^ times. So I done
it — I murdered him; and now they say
'twas poor Michael as done that same,
but it wasn't. Michael's a good lad. Rosie,
darlin', say a prayer to - night for your
poor old father."

The grasp of his fingers loosened, and
Rose was free. She staggered back and
almost felL The noise awakened her father;

My Connaught Cousins. i8i

he staxted up, rubbed his eyes, and stared
all round him.

" What's the matter ? " he cried. " What
have I said ? I thought. . . . Kose, what

are you there for ? Why do you

look at me like that?''

" Father ! " murmured the girl, forcing
her white lips to speak, "tell me, is it —
is \\,—true f "

'* True I is what true?" returned Merton;
then with a sudden impulse he extended
his arms and murmured pitifuUy, « oh,
Bose, Kose — God help me 1 "

His arms were still outstretched towards
her, but the girl made no movement to
go to him. She put up her hands as if
to keep him away, and with a low moan,
fell fainting upon the floor.

VIII.

No sooner was the body of the young
master committed to the earth than public

1 82 My Connaught Cousins.

attention once more turned upon the man
who was generally supposed to have mur-
dered him. Michael Jamieson still lay-
in the strong room at Storport barrack ;
for, before being sent to trial, the case
was to be thoroughly investigated by
the magistrates of Gulranny.

Kose Merton knew all this ; she also
knew how important it was that she
should see Michael before his trial came
on ; so at last, through the friendliness
of one of the policemen at the barrack,
she was promised that interview with
her lover which she so urgently sought.

It was the night before the day on
which Michael was to be taken into
Gulranny to undergo his first examina-
tion, that Rose Merton walked wearily
across the bogs towards the barrack.
Having reached the building, she was
admitted, and shown without delay into
the strong room where Michael lay.

" Ten minutes. Rose," murmured the

My Connaught Cousins, 183

man who showed her in, ^'and then you
must be off. It's against orders, you
know, to let you come at all, but sure
you'll never spake about it ! "

*' Never," said the girl solemnly, raising
her heavy eyes to his face ; and the man,
touched to the heart by her haggard look,
added hastily, —

" Sure, it's meself that's on duty, astore,
and I'm rather deaf, so you may just say
what ye like to the boy, so long as ye
don't overrun yer time. Now hurry, avich,
hurry, for I'm in dread till I get ye away
again, and that's the truth."

The room was a sort of dungeon ;
not unlike a prison cell. It was very
scant of furniture, and its one little
window was secured by heavy iron bars.
Michael Jamieson, who was well liked and
respected by every man in the barrack,
was suffered to remain here without
handcuffs. When Eose entered he was
seated dejectedly on the side of his bed ;

184 My Connaught Cousins.

at sight of her face he rose with a joy-
ful cry and folded her in his arms.

" Kose !" he said; "my own darlin' Rose!"

He kissed her cheek again and again,
and smoothed her pretty black hair; but
the girl said nothing, — she just laid her
head upon his breast and sobbed like a
child. It was the first time she had cried
since she had fainted before her father.

"Rose," murmured the young fellow,
" youVe come at last ! "

*' Yes," returned the girl, stifling her sobs,
" I have come, God help me ! "

" I was thinkin' you wouldn't come at all.
Rose, though day and night Fve sat waiting
and watchin', thinkin' o' nought but Rose
Merton. At every sound I heard I started
up, thinking it was maybe you come at
last, and when the step passed and no Rose
came — I knelt down and prayed. Grod
has heard me,— you are here ! "

" Oh, Michael, do you forgive me ? "

** What have I to forgive, mavoumeen?

My Connaught Cousins. 185

Nay, never hang thy head. Are you
thinkin' 0' him that's dead ? Poor lad, as
freely as I forgive him, I can forgive you."

" But, Michael, when you know all — "

** I know it already, Eose — IVe spent all
my time thinkin' o' it — and now I see you
were not so much to blame. What was I, a
poor rough lad, by the side o' the young
master? What was my love to his? You
thought him an honest man, machree^ and
when he spoke ye fair you trusted and
believed him. He was rich — I was poor —
'twas only the luck that was against us —
no fault o' yours ! "

" Michael, what are you saying ? " ex-
claimed the girl in amazement.

" Nothin' ! Don't mind me, Rose ; thank
God you've come — that's all. I'm to go
before the magistrates to-morrow : the
sight 0' your face will help me through ! "

" You're goiug to be tried ? "

" Yes, Rose ; — for murder ! "

A convulsive shiver passed over the girl's

1 86 My Connaught Cousins.

frame. She covered her eyes with her
hands.

" Ah, yes ! " she moaned.

" Why do you shrink away? Why do yon
hide your face ? Eose, listen to me — ^you
don't think that I did it ? You can never
think ihoJt] As God's my judge, Fm
innocent ! "

" I know it, Michael — ^too well ! "

" Too well ? "

**Ay — too well!" returned the girl in a
low, despairing moan. "Michael, let me
speak. Let me have it off my heart, for it
seems hurrying me into my grave. I know
you're innocent — and why? — because I've
come straight from him as done the cruel
deed ! "

The young man stared at her incredul-
ously.

" What ! " he exclaimed ; then he added
eagerly, " speak, Eose — who is he ? "

The girl grasped his arm for support, as
she whispered,—

My Connaught Cousins, 187

" My — my own father ! "

" Indeed, Michael, 'tis true ! "

** He killed young Mr Gregory ! "

" He did ! "

"I can't think it. Rose — it seems too

horrible for belief. Why did he do it ? "

" He was one of the Ribbon boys," said

the girl in a soft whisper, " and he drew

• the blood-marked paper, and was told off to

do the job. Well, he sent the warning, and

though he was mad against the young

master, he kind 0' shrank from taking

his life. So he waited ; but things got no

better, and the boys urged him on. At

last it was arranged that he was to do it

on the day of Gulranny Fair. Still he

didn't want to do it — and when he was

in Gulranny he spoke to the young master

and asked him to be merciful to all the

poor creatures in Storport ! "

" Yes, Rose, go on ! "

" Well, the master was fierce with him ;

1 88 My Connaught Cousins,

said he'd starve every man; and then he
said something about me / Father was mad ;
so he took plenty to drink and started for
home. But he only got half way. He
went to the spot where he'd hidden the
gun, took it out, and lay down behind a
mud bank. When the car drove up he
fired, and the master fell dead ! Michael,
he told me all. He's just broken-hearted
on account o' you. Twas with your gun
he did it ; you sold it to him a fortnight
agol"

" God help me ; so I did ! "

"And, Michael, this is worst of all —
they've called me as sl witness against
you ! Oh ! what shall I say ? what shall
I say ? "

" Speak the truth, Kose, every word ! "

" The truth ! " returned the girl ; " and if
I do, what then ? You will be free ; but I
shall have spoken the death warrant of my
oivnfather"

" That's true ! " exclaimed Michael, aghast.

My Connaught Cousins. 189

" Oh, Rose, why did you not come to me
before ? "

"I could not, Michael. When I asked
to be allowed to see you they refused ; and
even now 'tis Hogan O'Connor that has
quietly let me in."

"Let me think! let me think! Oh,
mavoumeen, this is a wicked trouble that
has come upon us. . . . If they should
find me guilty — but no, they can't do that
— there be no evidence against me ! "

" Oh, Michael, there's the gun ! "

" The gun ! " returned the young fellow
dreamily.

" Sure enough, dear — 'twas found on
the very spot. . . . Father dropt it in his
haste to get away."

" Then, 'tis black against me. Well, we
must trust in God ! "

" Michael, what do you mean ? " said the
girl, clinging wildly to him.

" Just this, Tnachreey I want you to re-
member when you're in the witness-box

190 My Connaught Cousins.

to-morrow, that 'tis easier to die with
an innocent than a guilty mind. I'm
young and strong and can bear a bit o'
trouble, and he is your father. Rose, if
you are brave and silent, thank God, he'll
never come to harm, for there isn't another
fioul in the world can spake a word against
him !"

" I can't bear it ; it will break my heart I "

" Don't say that, darlin' ; to see you grieve
is the hardest of all to bear. Since I was a
bit of a lad I've had but one thought in the
world, and that thought was Rose Merton.
True or false I've always loved you ! "

"And I loved you Michael, — ^always,
always ! "

" I'll try to think it, Rose. I'll try to
forget that aught ever came between us
two. But I don't think I ever loved you
as I love you mow. It's worth being here ;
it's worth sorrow and death itself — to feel
as I feel — I think I could die now, free and
giad ! "

My Connaught Cousins. 191

" Michael," sobbed the girl, " for heaven a
sake don't talk of dying ! "

" I won't ! ril try to think all will come
right, and maybe after all it will. Give me
thy hand, Eose ; look in my face and tell
me, come what may, you love me now ! "

"Ido, Ido!"

" With all your heart ? "

" With all my heart."

" That's enough, that's enough," he mur-
mured, as he folded her to his breast.

" Can you forgive me, dear ? "

" Forgive you, Kose ? If you could see
into my heart and read all the love that's
there, you'd never ask that same ! "

Their interview was nearly over; they
had already far exceeded their time ; the
policeman appeared and said, as gently as
he could, that Kose Merton must go. Then
the girl felt her weakness returning ; she
clung to her lover.

" Oh, Michael, I can't go," she sobbed hys-
terically ; " I can't bear it ; I must speak ! "

192 My Connaught Cousins.

But the young fellow tried his best to
soothe her.

"Keep up your heart, Rose," he whis-
pered ; " Fll fight it through like a man, and
take my chance. Don't think o' me, but 0'
your (ywn jlesh and blood. Remember if
you spake the word that frees me, your
father's a dead man ! "

"Oh! what shall I do?"

"Trust in the Lord to make things
mend. Trust in God, Rose, and pray for

me.

Then he signalled to the man to take
her ; and poor Rose, half distracted and
broken-hearted, was led away.

How she got outside she never knew.
When she came fully to herself she was
standing on the Storport road, within a
hundred yards of the barrack.

It was a dreary-looking night. At first
it seemed to her that there was no one
abroad, but suddenly she became conscious
of a figure walking along the road a little

L

My Connaught Cousins. 193

before her — ^the figure of a woman, — tall
and stately and clothed in deep black. Kose
knew that figure well. It was Mrs
Gregory of the Castle — yes, the once proud
Mrs Gregory — old and enfeebled now, and
leaning on a staff. One moment of hesi-
tation, then Kose ran forward and clutched
her dress.

•* Madam," she cried in a low trembling
voice, ** I want to speak to you ! "

The lady paused ; but Kose could not see
her face, it was covered with a thick crape
veil.

** Whoever you are," she answered, " it is
impossible. I can speak to no one ! "

" One word ! " cried Rose, " only one
word ! "

** I do not know you ! "

" Oh, madam, you know me only too well!"

The lady raised her veil, and looked into
the girl's troubled face. As she did so her
features hardened; her eyes glittered like
steel.

VOL. III. N

194 My Connaught Cousins.

" You here ! " she began passionately ;
" girl, do you dare ? "

" Oh, madam, God forgive me for speak-
ing to you in your trouble ! I know youVe
cause to hate me and mine — ay, more
cause than you know."

" Hate you ! " returned the woman fiercely;
" ay, more than hate. Had I my will you
should hxing with your wretched paramour."

" Madam, for the love of God ! " ex-
claimed the girl, sinking on her knees.

" Your face sickens me ; your voice is
hateful to me ! Begone, or — or I shall
strike you ! "

She grasped her cane as if she meant to
carry out the threat.

Eose Merton did not shrink ; looking up
quietly, she said, —

*' Yes, strike me. Blows would be better
for me, madam, than even kind words ; but
you must hear me."

"I will not!"

'*I will speak, if you kill me for it!

My Connaught Cousins, 195

Madam, my heart bleeds for you, but you
can't mend one dark deed by doin' another ;
and it's murder you're goin' to do, in the
sight 0' God."

" What do you mean ? "

" Just this. Michael Jamieson never
harmed a hair of your son's head."

" Don't speak of it, nor of him ! My
curse — "

" Madam, what does the good Book say ?
— ' Curse not at all.' I'm only a poor girl,
and you're a great lady, but I'm here to
save you from a wicked deed — ^a deed as
wicked as the one you lay at Michael Jamie-
son's door ! "

** I've heard you, Kose Merton, now hear
me. You would tell me that this wretched
creature was only one of many. I know it.
The murder was planned by the Eibbonmen,
and Jamieson was only the instrument \
Silence, and listen ! I tell you I care little
now whether or not this man was guilty
of the deed itself. Even if you could

196 My Connaught Cotisins.

prove his innocence, I would not spaxe
him!"

" You would not — "

''If I had the power," she continued,
growing more and more excited, " Td
hunt you all down, you first of all. You
should all hang together ! "

"Don't say that — ^'tis not spoken like a
woman."

" Then I will speak like a mother — give
me back my son ! "

"Oh, if I could ; it would not only heal
your heart, but lift the load forever off
mine. But I cannot! What is done is
done, and all I'm here for now is to save
an innocent man."

•' Begone ! "

" I will not go ! What is your grief to
mine ? Do you think 'tis only gentlefolks
can feel ? Ah, your heart is hard, and you
forget that poor folk can suffer too. If
you and your son had been a little merci-
ful, he would be alive now."

My Connaught Cousins. 197

"Ah!"

''When we asked for bread, you didn't
listen. When the mothers and children
were dying for lack of food, you didn't
heed. A thousand homes might be empty,
a thousand hearts broken, and what did
you care ? You had neither pity nor kind-
ness. You drove men mad, and then one poor
miserable madman took your son's life ! "

The woman rose her height, and pointed
with her hand.

" Begone ! " she said, *' you waste your
time and mine. I have only one wish-
never to see your face again! Only one
regret — ^that you will not suffer by the side of
the wretch for whom you came to plead I . . .
Rose Merton, one word more. When my
son fell dead into my arms, his life-blood
flowed upon my shoulder, soaking my
dress with red. I looked and looked at
the mark, until it almost burnt into my
brain. Then, in case I should ever be
inclined to feel pity, I stitched this piece

198 My Connaught Cousins.

of red cloth upon my shoulder, just where
the blood had been. There it will remain,
ever reminding me of my duty, until my
vengeance is complete."

Heart sick and soul sick, Rose raised. her
eyes, and saw for the first time that a large
spot of red, like blood, was fixed upon the
woman's shoulder. The sight of it almost
made her faint, and with a sickening sense
of fear upon her she turned away.

IX.

According to the arrangements which had
been made beforehand, Michael Jamieson
was next morning placed upon a car, and,
attended by a strong escort of police, was
driven to the court-house at Gulranny.
The trial had excited popular interest, and
nearly every Storport boy was in town
that day. My uncle and Achill Murry
were two of those who were to decide
whether or not Michael Jamieson was to

My Connaught Cousins, 199

be committed for trial. The place where
the investigation was held was a large
square room, and on this occasion that
portion of it which was allotted to the
public was crammed to suffocation, while
all those who were unable to gain ad-
mittance clustered together eagerly about
the doors. Among those who had been
enabled to obtain seats were Charlie Bing-
ley and his mother. Mrs Bingley, a jolly-
looking woman of forty, had a special
interest in the • proceedings, for since her
life had been threatened, not once but
many times, since she had felt it her duty
to prosecute some ruffians who persisted in
poaching her river. My cousin Kathleen
was also present ; Mrs Timlin, Conolly, and,
most prominent of all, Mrs Gregory, clothed
in the deepest of black, and with the red
mark looking like blood upon her shoulder.
After the preliminaries were gone
through, Mrs Gregory was the first wit-
ness called. She stood like a woman

200 My Connaught Cousins.

of stone, her features fixed, her mouth
set in cruel determination. She still leant
somewhat feebly upon a handsome ebony
cane, but she gave her evidence in a plain^
straightforward manner, and without a
tremor of the voice. When she was
done she took her seat in court, and
continued to grimly watch the proceed-
ings throughout the day.

Dr Maguire was the next : he had made
a post-mortem examination of the body,
and told the cause of death. Then came
the policeman who had been on the car
at the time of the murder, who had found
the gun, and who had subsequently taken
Michael Jamieson prisoner. He swore to
the gun as the one he had found, but he
confessed he had never seen it in the
prisoner s possession. He simply con-
cluded it belonged to the prisoner on
account of his initials being cut upon
the stock. They were M. J. But he had
something more to say. When questioned

My Connaught Cousins. 201

as to what made him connect 'Jt/. J. with
Michael Jamieson, he told of the meeting
he had witnessed between the young mas-
ter and Kose Merton — of Michael's inter-
ference — of the struggle — of his threat
to take Mr Gregory's life.

Public interest was certainly awakened
at last, and when James Merton entered
the court, you could have heard a pin
drop. He was haggard and worn — ^but he
never lifted his eyes from the ground.
His evidence was of little importance.
He knew nothing of his daughter s meet-
ings with the young master or of Michael's
interference. He had walked with him
into Gulranny on the day of the murder,
but once in the town, they had parted
company, and he, James Merton, had
started for home alone.

" Did the prisoner refuse to accompany
you back.'*

" No ; I didn't ask him."

" Why ? "

202 My Connaught Cousins.

"Why?" repeated Merton; "I don't
know why. I wanted to get home, and
I went home."

" Did anything occur during your walk
home ? "

" Nothing. I walked straight across
the bog. When I got to Storport I heard
o' the murder."

" On the fair day, had the prisoner a
gun in his possession ? "

"No."

" You will swear it ? "

" I will swear it."

"You know that the prisoner possessed
a gun ? "

" No."

" One moment. Look at this gun."

The gun which had deprived young Gre-
gory of life was thereupon handed to James
Merton. For a moment he shrank half fear-
fully away — fixing his eyes wildly upon it.

" What — what's this ? " he exclaimed.
"Why do you bring this to me?"

My Connaught Cousins. 203

" I want you to look at it, and tell me
if you have ever seen it before."

He looked at it long and intently — ^then
he turned away.

" No," he said.

"You will swear that you have never
seen it before ? "

" Yes," he returned desperately, " I'll
swear it."

" You don't know that it belongs to the
prisoner ? "

" No."

"You will swear you have never seen
him with this gun in his hand ? "

" Yes, m swear that too ! "

Merton was ordered to step down, and
now there remained but one witness to
be called ; his daughter Eose. She came
into the court looking scarcely like a
living woman. Her face was white as
death, her eyes were large and lustrous,
and as they gazed gently around the
court they had in them a strange, wild,

204 My Connaught Cousins.

wandering look, as if she did not under-
stand what was taking place ; and, indeed,
she scarcely saw. She was conscious only
of a wild mass of people, in the midst of
which sat a figure robed in black, with a
blood-red mark upon the shoulder. She
felt that the pale face was turned towards
her, and that the pitiless eyes were fixed
upon her as if to read her very soul. She
passed her hand across her eyes, then fixed
them upon the ground.

" Your name is Eose Merton."

" It is, sir."

"Look at the prisoner; do you know him? "

She raised her head and looked steadily
over at Michael, who stood pale, reso-
lute, but handcuffed. As their eyoa met,
her own filled with tears.

*' Do you know him ? "

" I do, sir."

*'You were, I believe, engaged to be
married to him."

" I was, sir."

My Connaught Cousins. 205

" But like many another of your sex, you
preferred the attentions of a gentleman.
You also knew the deceased ? "

Eose did not answer. Her pale cheek
had flushed now, and her tears fell fast.

" Come, answer my question ! " said the
magistrate sharply ; whereat she quietly
wiped away her tears and replied, —

" Yes, sir ; I knew young Mr Gregory."

" Intimately ? I believe he was a lover
of yours ? "

" Oh no, no ; not that ! "

" What ! were you not in the habit of
meeting him ? "

" Yes — we — we met once or twice."

" You were in his company on the night
of the 16th, I believe?"

"Yes, sir, I was. I went to tell Mr
Gregory I could not meet him any more,
because — "

" During that meeting, what occurred ? —
did the prisoner appear and remonstrate
against your conduct ? "

2o6 My Connaught Cousins.

" Yes, sir, Michael came up and threw
off young Mr Gregory, who was dragging
me away."

" And there was a struggle between de-
ceased and the prisoner ? "

" They had words, sir."

"And from words they came to blows ? "

" Yes, sir," replied the girl, trembling
violently ; " but — ^it was all my fault ; I
was to blame ! "

" Never mind that, but answer me, on
your oath, did you hear the prisoner
threaten to take deceased's life?"

The girl looked up in terror; again she
put her hand to her head as if to collect her
wandering thoughts.

" Oh, sir," she cried piteously, " it was only
a few words in anger, he meant no harm."

" Did he, or did he not, use this expres-
sion, * III have his life ? ' "

"Oh, sir, don't ask me — I — I — don't
know ! "

A little more questioning, and Kose

My Connaught Cousins, 207

Merton, half fainting and wholly distracted,
was forcibly removed from the court.
Everybody present believed that she had
wilfully lied to save her lover's life. The
case was now left in the hands of the jury.
The magistrate summed up, and the jury
returned a verdict of "Not Guilty." So
Michael was set at liberty, though there were
few in court that day, including the jury
who refused to convict him, but believed
that Michael had been very intimately
mixed up with the murder, if he did not
actually commit it.

X.

"It is nearly six years ago now," said
Kathleen, "since that night when poor
Michael Jamieson came back with the taint
of the prison upon him, and yet I re-
member it as well as if it were yesterday.
He had always been a favourite in Stor-
port, and the news of his release excited

2o8 My Connaught Cousins.

the people almost to madness : bonfires
were lit on the hills, and the villagers
turned out in a perfect crowd to welcome
him home. Michael himself came back
quietly enough, with Rose Merton and her
father — he refused to join in the merry-
making, but while the shouts of joy were
ringing through the village, he sat beside
the fire in James Merton's hut holding
Rose's hand. The girl was pale and trem-
bling like a leaf ; she had her head turned
away from him, and she was crying,—

"I can't, Michael, I can't," she said;
"don't ask me to do it — I've brought
you harm enough, God knows."

"Rose, don't say that," returned the
young fellow earnestly ; " or if you will
Ba,y it — add that, after all the sorrow and
pain, you mean to give me a little happi-
ness by becoming my wife ! "

He drew her towards him and kissed
her fondly, and she sobbed out her sorrow
upon his shoulder.

My Connaught Cousins . 209

"Ah, Michael," she cried, "you forget
— my — ^my father ! "

"No, TMJbvoumeen^ I don't forget — ^but
that makes no difference to me."

Just a week later, Eose and Michael
became man and wife ; they were married
quietly by Father John. Some of the
girls were in the little chapel to witness
the ceremony, for Eose had always been
an immense favourite at the Lodge, and
they would have got up some wedding
festivities, but Eose said no — she shrank
from any publicity ; all she wanted, she
said, was to make Michael happy. So she,
the prettiest and showiest girl in Storport,
was disposed of, and everybody thought
that the tragedy had come to a satisfactory
close.

As soon as popular excitement had some-
what subsided, the inhabitants of Storport
again turned their thoughts to the question

of landlord and tenant. Everyone looked
VOL. m. o

2 1 o My Connaught Cousins.

for a new landlord in Stoiport, for at
the death of young Gregory the estates
passed into the possession of a distant
cousin. As soon, therefore, as he chose
to make his appearance in Storport, Mrs
Gregory would have to vacate the Castle
and take up her residence in a little
white-washed cottage which faced the Stor-
port high road, and which had been used
for a similar purpose before.

The people looked forward to the change
in anxiety, hoping against hope for better
times to come. But the news soon spread
that no change was likely to take place,
at least for some time. The new land-
lord was in India — ^he intended to remain
there for many months longer, and in the
meantime he left his aunt in full pos-
session of the estates.

If things had been bad under the young
man's management, they grew infinitely
worse under the management of his
mother, for she, believing she had been

My Connaught Cousins, 211

tricked of her vengeance, looked upon
each of her miserable tenants as the
murderer of her son. She stalked over
the black bogs, with her face set in
rigid determination. She was for ever
habited in the deadliest of black; and
she wore that sickening spot of red on
her shoulder.

Her first act was to evict Michael
Jamieson ; and he, knowing the terrible
secret, quietly submitted to his fate.
He removed to a croft on a neighbouring
estate ; then she raised the rent of
every holding, and sent many a man,
woman, and child, to an early grave.

It must not be supposed that this
kind of thing was allowed to go un-
checked — a species of civil war com-
menced, with grim determination on either
side to fight it through. Periodical
meetings were held in Mrs Timlin's
kitchen — new agents came and went,
terrified by the threats which rained

212 My Connaught Cousins.

around them. At last, Mrs Gregory de-
termined to face the storm alone.

It was on the night of the departure
of the last agent that another meeting
was held in Mrs Timlin's kitchen, and
the men, looking into each other's faces,
asked themselves what they must do.
They knew that their wives and children
were starving, and that during the bleak
winter which was coming on fresh troubles
were sure to arise. The whole village
was being sacrificed to gratify the ven-
geance of one woman. Still, after all,
they were men, and they hesitated to
raise their hands. Instead of despatch-
ing the usual death's head and cross
bones, they wrote a letter begging for
mercy, and asking her, for the love of
God, to remember the fate of her son, who
when asked for bread, tendered a stone.

The letter was sent. The next day as
Kathleen was walking through the village,
she came upon a group of men who stood

My Connaught Cousins. 213

surrounding Mrs Gregory. She held an
open letter in her hand.

" You ask me for mercy ! " she said ;
^*and I tell you I will show you just as
much as you showed when you murdered my
son. You cowards, perhaps you would like
to murder me, — if so, you can do so. Fm
only a defenceless woman, but I defy you."

• • • • a . •

Vengeance had come. That same night a
terrible scene was enacted in a hut close to
the spot where Mrs Gregory had stood.

Ever since the day when the young master
lost his life James Merton had been a changed
man. When Kose married, he went to live
with her, and, in answer to her loving words,
he promised to try and be happy. Yes, to
please Rose, and in the vain hope of bring-
ing the old smUe to her lips, and the roses
to her cheeks, he had made the promise ;
but, for all that, he knew that his days of
happiness were gone. Whenever he looked
at Rose, so pale and sad, his breaking heart

214 ^h' Connaught Cousins.

was almost rent in two, and his sorrow was
not lessened when he saw that her hus-
band's hair was prematurely mixed with
grey. Whenever he walked abroad, his ears
were filled with the wails of the suffering
people, — and the sight of the woman,
black and bloodstained, was for ever before
his eyes.

It was a terrible time, and often, as he
sat alone by the fire, he thought he would
end it all, but for Eose's sake. Oh, if he
could only die ! yet, though he prayed and
prayed, death never came.

The change in him came so gradually that
Rose, who nursed and watched him care-
fully, hardly seemed to note it ; but one
day she looked in his face and seemed to
know the truth.

It was one day when she was sitting at
home with him alone, for he seldom went
out now. Eose was sewing, when suddenly
she felt impelled to look up, and she saw
that her father was sitting by the fire gazing

My Connaught Cousins. 215

at her. All at once the truth seemed to
dawn upon her; she rose, threw her arms
about her fathers neck, and cried, and
kissed him.

" Eose," he said, as he gently stroked her
hair ; " Kosie, w/xchree^ you mustn't grieve
— 'twill be better for you — and better for
me, for I'm just tired out. What's that
the Bible says, mavoumeen — a life for a
life?"

" Oh, father, don't talk like that ! " sobbed
the poor girl ; " I — I can't bear it ! "

She fell on her knees before him, took his
hands and kissed them, but, with a shudder,
he pulled them away.

** Don't, Kose," he cried, "they're covered
wid blood ! "

She saw that his eyes were wandering, so
she put her arms about him, and said, —

" Father, you're weary ; come with me
and rest."

" Eest ! " he repeated, gazing strangely
into her face; "I can't rest — for, when I

2 1 6 My Connaught Cousins.

lay me down and shut my eyes, I hear
them saying IVe done a murder, — and then
he comes, the young master, — ^and his face
is all covered wid blood . . . Last night, as
I was lying in bed, your mother came to
my bedside ; she was all in shining white,
and she looked at me and said, ! James,
James, what have you done?' When I
took her hand, it was all cold and dead,
and she was crying, — why, Kose, you're
crying too !"

" I can't help it. Oh, father ! "
"Ah, you're thinkin' o' poor Michael —
ah, yes, now I know — they mean to hang
him ; but don't grieve. Kosie, you're a good
girl, and I won t bring trouble to you, — I'll
see Michael righted before I die."

He rose from his seat, and, but for Kose,
he would have fallen to the ground ; she
got him to bed, and he sank down like oue
weary unto death, — for a moment conscious-
ness returned to him, — he stretched out his
trembling hands, as he said, —

My Connaught Cousins. 217

"Ah, Eose, 'twas well said, my heart is
broken ! "

At six o'clock the next morning, Mrs
Gregory's servants opened the Castle door,
and found a man, apparently dead, lying
across the threshold.

It was James Merton.

He had fainted, but was not dead, and,
on restoratives being applied, he recovered
consciousness sufficiently to open his eyes
and ask for Mrs Gregory. The old lady
was called, and when she came, Merton
held forth his hands and cried, —

*' Mistress, mistress, pray God to forgive
me — I hilled your son ! " then, with a low
moan, he sank back and died.

In his hand they found a paper bearing
s, full confession of the crime.

• ••••••

Having arrived at this point Kathleen
paused, as if her tale was done. I asked
for the rest.

2i8 My Connaughi Cousins.

" There is very little more to tell you,
Jack," she said. " Poor Merton was buried,
and his confession made public. It sur-
prised no one. Shortly afterwards, Mr
O'Neil, the present landlord, came to Stor-
port, and Mrs Gregory removed from the
Castle. Though James Merton was dead
and buried, she never forgave the mur-
der of her son : it is generally believed
that she incites every act of cruelty and
injustice which her nephew commits ; she
openly defies one ; and all ; she refuses to
have any protection ; and she puts herself in
the power of the very people whom she has
treated like dogs. Yet her very courage
has commanded their respect and saved her
life. Even poor Rose Merton, whom she
continues to persecute cruelly, does not
wish to raise a finger to harm her. Poor
girl, she has certainly suffered enough. I
think she was quite right when she said
that Storport was not big enough to hold
her as well as Mrs Gregory."

My Connaught Cousins. 219

Kathleen having promised to assist
Rose, lost no time in keeping her word.
America was certainly the best place for
her to go to ; so to America she was accord-
ingly sent. My uncle and I both added to
Michael's little store of money — ^whUe all
the girls turned out their wardrobes, and
managed to find innumerable articles which
were "just the thing" either for Rose or
her little daughter. So the travellers
turned their backs upon the sorrow and
darkness of the old country to look for
brightness, hope, and comfort in the new.

CHAPTER VIIL

OW chilly the weather is grow-
ing." I murmured, holding
my trembling hands over the
blaze which I had made in the grate, and
shivering again. "I must get that rascal
Shawn."

"Yer honor," said Shawn, thrusting his
head in at my sitting-room door.

'' WeU, Shawn ? "

*' Would yer honor like to see a funeral ?
Tis ould Pat Murphy's, the cobbler, that
was a hundred years, or thereabouts. He
died a couple o' days ago, and he's had the
grandest wake ; for I was there myself, on
account of the mashter givin' the candles ! "

My Connaught Cousins, 221

Here Shawn came to a full stop, gazed
at me for a few seconds in silence, and then
repeated his question.

''Would yer honor like to go?
Twill be a grand funeral, I'm tould ;
and so it ought indeed; for 'twas time
the old man went intirely to make room
for them that's comin' on. 'Tis only
right that yer honor should go, since
the whole 0' the counthry will be there ;
and though yer honor's often been to a
wake and a wedding, sure you've never
been to the graveyard or seen a funeral."

And Shawn was right; long as I had
lived in Connaught — often as I had made
my appearance at weddings, wakes, or
fairs, I had never once had the curiosity
to go over to the graveyard and witness
the extraordinary process which the in-
habitants of Connaught employed in com-
mitting a body to the earth.

I had seen from afar the small spot
known as the graveyard — a square of

222 My Connaught Cousins.

rugged earth it appeared to me. lying se-
eluded on the hillside, with the baxren
peaks of the bog mountains above, and
the sea washing upon the shore a hun-
dred yards below. I had listened with
interest to the wild stories and legends
connected with the spot, which Shawn
was ever ready to din into my ears, and
for me that had been enough. When-
ever I heard that a funeral service was
to be performed, I religiously kept within
doors ; or, if I must go out, I deter-
minedly walked in the opposite direction
to that in which I knew the corpse must
be conveyed. So, despite Shawn's press-
ing invitation to make one of the riotous
company of that day, I determinedly
shook my head, and commanded him to
withdraw. And yet I could not help
feeling some curiosity about the matter,
and as the door closed upon the man's
muscular figure, I strolled over to the
window and took a peep at the arrange-

My Connaught Cousins. 223

ments which were going forward for the
day's fun. At the door of old Pat
Murphy's cabin, which was set on a bog
by the roadside, several hundred yards
from the Lodge door, a good crowd was
gathered, while along the roads, which
crossed and branched off in every direc-
tion, little parties of sixes and sevens
were trudging along to mingle with the
great stream, and increase its dimensions,
until it seemed to completely surround
the house. To eyes unaccustomed to
such sights it would have seemed that
the whole of the inhabitants of the vil-
lage were gathering together to make
merry at some neighbouring fair; for
the women wore their gayest petticoats
and head-shawls, while some of the men
disported garments of bright variegated
hues. On the preceding night a keen
frost had nipped the land, but as the day
advanced, the air seemed to grow warmer.
The sun rays, falling from a chill grey

224 My Connaught Cousins.

sky, were melting the ice from both
causeway and hill ; yet still, upon the
peaks of the distant mountains, I could
see the faint glittering of frozen hail.

"A capital day for the snipe/' I mur-
mured again, as I returned to my cozy
seat by the fire. " The first breath of
winter seems to put new life into a man.
I shall do my twenty miles to-day, and
feel the better for it. On a clear, bright,
frosty morning, give me the Connaught
bogs."

"Ye'd travel a long way to find their
match, sure enough," put in Shawn, who
during my soliloquy had entered the room
unperceived; **but yer honor would never
go shporting to-day."

" And why not ? "

"Every why, yer honor; sure ye know
'tis ould Pat Murphy's funeral, and if
ye don't wish to go to it yerself, 'tis not
like you to be sayin' no to me / "

I was astonished, and I said so, but at

My Connaught Cousins. 225

Shawn's next speech my astonishment
increased.

"Sure, I don't care about the funeral
then, if yer honor would but let me go
over to see poor ould Pat brought to life
again."

"What!"

" They're lavin' the coflBn-lid oflF in
hopes that the priest, God bless him,
may come in time, and if he does it will
be all right, for then he can raise up
Patrick, and give him the unction, that
his ould body may shleep in peace."

"Shawn, are you gone mad?" I asked
at last.

" Not at all, yer honor ; sure every-
body knows that he raised up Eose
Monnaghan, on account o' her dyin* wid-
out confession ; and then he got her to
confess, and she died again quiet and
aisy, and had a grand wake, and was
buried dacently ; and when he did it to
the likes 0' her, why can't he do it to

VOL. III. p

226 My Connaught Cousins.

ould Patrick, who died widout confessin',
ou account of kis riverence bein' away ? "

This rigmarole amazed me. I demanded
a lucid explanation from Shawn, and re-
ceived only his emphatic assurance, that
there was " devil a word of lie in it, at
all, at all."

"Ask anybody, and ye'll find it's all
true ; ask his riverence," he said, when
he suddenly paused, and added, — " well,
indeed, maybe his riverence wouldn't own
to it at all. He said himself 'twas in
a faint she was, and when he put the
water on her face, it brought her round
to spake to them before she died."

" And between you and me, Shawn, I
think his riverence was right."

"Do you, indeed, sor; well, if you'll
just shtep over to the graveyard to-day,
ye'U see ould Pat Murphy brought round,
if his riverence has a mind to do it."

" You think I should ? "

" Tm certain sure of it."

My Connaught Cousins, 227

** Very well then, Fll go. Ill just wait
until the funeral procession has got well
a-head, and then I will take a short cut
to the graveyard by myself ! "

Having gratified the wish of Shawn's
heart, and determined to satisfy my own
curiosity, which I must confess was by
that time strongly aroused, I walked again
over to the window, and took another glance
at the people who were still congregating
about the hut.

What a crowd it had become ! the house
was surrounded ; the road was well covered ;
while still from the hillsides, over bog and
moor, and along the numerous rugged roads,
came straggling figures, some of them foot-
sore from long travelling, others huddling
their rags about their attenuated frames,
and shrinking from the chilly touch of the
air ; but finally all of them became merged
into the great crowd, as runlets mingle
in the sea. One or two hours passed and
I became restless ; the gradual increasing

228 My Connaught Cousins.

of the crowd, the protracted delay, stimu-
lated my morbid curiosity, and I began to
long for the time to come when this strange
event was to take place at the grave. Not
that I altogether believed what Shawn had
told me, I had heard too many of his legends
for that ; nor did I for a moment imagine
that anything extraordinary would happen
to prevent the interment of the corpse ; but
I did anticipate a peculiar sight, and as
I had determined to witness it, the delay
in doing so annoyed me. But the in-
habitants of Storport were not accustomed
to quick movements. Slowly the great
crowd increased until the road was com-
pletely blocked, and the mingled voices
of the peopk reached my ears as I stood at
the open window of my room, It certainly
was going to be " a grand funeral." Men and
women, boys and girls, of all ages, sizes,
and degrees, and from all parts of the coun-
try around, were by that time gathered
together. Some of them carried jars under

My Connaught Cousins. 229

their arms ; others drinking- vessels ; while,
to my amazement, others had got creels of
turf upon their backs, as if that too was
meant as a contribution to the ceremony
of the day. At length the crowd made a
swaying movement, and then began to
move in one long, straggling mass up from
the cabin. I looked searchingly along the
lines of grotesque figures, and at length per-
ceived the coflBn, a box of white deal, stand-
ing in the middle of a sheet, the ends of
which were carelessly held by two men. The
crowd moved so quickly, and the road was so
rugged to tread, that the coflBLa was jolted
and swung in such a violent manner as to
cause the loose lid to fall once or twice
almost to the ground ; but the carpenter who
made the coffin, and now walked beside it,
carrying in his hand the hammer and nails
which would be necessary for the com-
pletion of his work, lifted from the road
a heavy stone and placed it on the coffin-
lid to keep it in its place. Again I turned

230 My Connaught Cousins.

from the window, and crossing over to the

hearth stood with my back to the fire.

That it would be useless for me to attempt

to leave the house for several hours I knew,

since the funeral party had to cross the

estuary and there was only one boat to

take the whole lot. It would occupy fully

two hours, I reflected, plying backwards

and forwards, to convey across the living and

the dead. So having given Shawn leave to

depart at once, and having had something to

eat, I took up a book to pass the time away.

How long I read I don't know, I only

remember coming to myself with a start

and leaping confusedly to my feet, to find

the fire low in the grate, the day waning,

and the air bitterly cold. I opened the

window and looked out ; there was no living

soul abroad. The waning light of the sky

fell upon the village, lying dull and silent,

with the black bogs stretching ominously

around, but in the air there was the faint echo

of a wild moaning and shrieking which was

My Connaught Cousins. 231

wafted to me by the breath of the sea, and
which I knew must come from the graveyard.

I hurrriedly buttoned on my coat, and
left the house.

The evening air was bitter ; thick sheets
of ice covered the causeway, and even the
brown bogs were hard and easy to tread. I
made my way quickly ; in half an hour I
had crossed the ferry, plodded over the sands,
and stood upon the brow of a hill looking
down upon the graveyard. But could it
be a graveyard? It was more like a
scene from the Inferno. Half-a-dozen fires
blazed up, iUuminating hundreds of recum-
bent figures. Stone jars were tossed about ;
drinking vessels scattered here and there ;
empty creels overturned beside small mounds
of turf. Some three or four men, with bare
heads and arms, worked diligently at a
hole with pick and spade ; others sat
smoking beside the fires ; others had picked
out from the confused mass of stones some
weU-known grave, and stood by it, drinking

232 My Connaught Cousins.

and shouting between whiles ; while in the
midst of all this stood the coffin, lidless,
with the ashen face of the corpse turned
blankly to the sky. With a shrug of the
shoulders, I descended the hill and entered
the graveyard, the better to view what was
being done. No sooner, however, had my
feet touched the sacred ground than a sick-
ening odour, which seemed to permeate the
whole air, met my nostrils, and made me
pause. Faugh ! it was like a charnel-house.
I turned my face to the sea, which washed
upon the sands, a few hundred yards below
me, and its fresh, invigorating breath swept
away the pestilence which seemed to rise
like vapour from the earth. I stepped
forward, and, glancing keenly around, took
in the whole situation. A nearer view
showed me what I had not seen before.
Several figures lying prone amidst the
scattered debris of rocks and stones, snoring
in a heavy, drunken sleep ; others, perched
upon the graves, sat drinking and disputing,

My Connaught Cousins. 233

and in their wild excitement almost coming
to blows. Close to the grave . which was
being newly made, a woman sat crying over
the skull of an infant, which she had buried
years before, and which had been thrown
out of the earth by the pickaxe, now busily
at work again ; while the shrieks and moans
which were given forth on every side
drowned the sound even of the washing of
the sea. While noting all this I had been
diligently making my way towards the spot
where the coffin stood, when suddenly my
foot caught against some invisible object,
and I fell. Again came that sickening odour
which had at first offended my nostrils, but
this time it was so strong and so offensive
that it almost made me faint. I scrambled to
my feet, joined the group around the nearest
fire, and having partaken of the whisky which
was so liberally handed round, I returned to
the spot where I had fallen, determined to
examine the ground and discover, if possible,
the cause of the sickening smell. I had

234 ^y Connaught Cousins,

fallen across a square pile of stones, which
was raised some two or three inches above
the ground. By the waning light of the
sky I could see no more, but having pos-
sessed myself of a torch, and looked again,
I opened my eyes in amazement, for the
stones covered a coffin, the other haK of
which was thrust into the ground. The
coffin was rotting, the seams yawning, and
down its sides was running a greenish
matter, the odour from which had met
my nostrils, and was now poisoning
the whole air. With a shudder I turned
away, and, taking my torch in my hand,
examined several other graves, some of
which I found in the same condition ;
others, if possible, a little worse. I had
examined the fourth grave when I was
suddenly joined by Shawn, who had been
carousing at the other end of the grave-
yard, and who now came up to express
his joy at seeing me there.

** Shawn," I said, pointing to the graves.

My Connaught Cousins. 235

" what on earth induces your people to
bury the dead like that ? "

" Like what, yer honor ?

" Why, with one-half of the coffin in
the ground, the other half left uncovered
to create a pestilence in the place ? "

'* Is it the shtones yer honor manes ?
Well, well, that's a funny way to spake
o' them. Sure, there isn't enough room
for the whole o' them ; the graves is
choked full already, and some o' them,
like Pat Murphy, must make do wid
a little bit o' room."

** But think of the consequences of that ;
the odour which comes from the graves
is enough to breed a fever."

" The smell is it ? Sure, that comes from
the grass, yer honor ; 'tis a queer grass
that grows here, and they're sayin' it has
a queer charm about it. Och, murder ! "
he suddenly screamed, " boys, boys, here
comes the soggarth ! "

The eflfect was miraculous ; in a moment

236 My Connaught Cousins.

the whole party rose shrieking and
moaning, to their feet, and congregated
in a \vild crowd around the cofl&n,
which still stood open upon the ground.
Some bore in their hands flaming torches,
which lit up the faces of the crowd,
and the now fast darkening sky. By
their light I could see the priest walk-
ing with long strides towards the newly-
made grave. As he came nearer, the
whole crowd uttered a wild shriek, and
fell upon their knees.

" Yer riV rence, raise up ould Patrick ;
he died widout confessing on account o'
yer riv'rence bein' away, and his soul,
God bless it, will niyir risht in peace."

Without a word, the priest walked
quietly up to the cofiin and blessed the
dead body ; then he moved to the open
grave and blessed the soil ; then he
spoke quietly to the people.

" 'Tis not in the power of mortal man
to raise up the dead," he said ; " that

My Connaught Cousins. 237

belongs only to Almighty God. Connie,
screw the lid on to the coffin, make haste
to bury the dead, and do not disgrace
the sacredness of the occasion by drunken-
ness and riot. Good-night, my dear people,
may God bless your work ! "

Having spoken thus, he mingled with the
crowd, and quickly disappeared.

For a time the whole crowd stood
petrified ; then the carpenter stepped
slowly forward, and began to screw the
lid on to the coffin, and the whole of
the company began moaning and yelling,
while the body was finally consigned to
the earth. I took a seat upon the
hillside, and waited till the work was
over and most of the mourners had
gone away, then I too arose, and took
my departure. It was growing towards
ten o'clock — the sky was studded with
stars, and the moon, full and bright,
poured her rays upon the earth — she
lit up the graveyard, the withered grass

238 My Connaught Cousins.

and stones, the grey embers of the dead
fires, the broken jars and the drinking
vessels, the black figures, coiled snake-
like upon the ground in a heavy, drunken
slumber, while from the recesses of the
black hills around came the faint echo
of riotous voices, which proceeded from
the drunken revellers who were making
their way home. I turned to my com-
panion, who stood beside me, silent and
shamefaced.

" Well, Shawn, was I not right ? Had
the priest the power to raise up old
Murphy ? "

" Troth, he had thin, if he had the
wish to do it," said Shawn doggedly;
and I saw that if I argued till the
sun rose, I should not convince him of
his folly in so believing ; so I nodded
" good - night," and walked in silence
towards the Lodge.

CHAPTER IX.

HEN I passed through the vil-
lage that night, I suspected
there must be something wrong.
I saw dark shapes flitting hither and thither
like spirit forms, while my ears seemed to
detect strange sounds of wailing sorrow.
I stood and listened and looked about
me ; but seeing no one whom I could
question, I decided that the mystery must
be connected with the proceedings of
the day, and feeling tolerably well satisfied
with the explanation, I walked on towards
home.

Here a new surprise awaited me. On

240 My Connaught Cousins,

opening the door, and stepping into the
hall, I was met by Oona, pale as a
ghost, and trembling violently.

" Oh, Jack ! " she cried, " do you think
it is true ? "

She took my arm, and drew me into
the dining-room ; where I found Biddy
and Amy, looking pale and frightened
too. Then I saw that Oona had been
crying.

"Oh, Jack," she sobbed, as I put my
arm about her, and laid her head upon
my shoulder, " have you heard ? do you
know — but it's too dreadful — it carit be
true ! "

Thoroughly mystified by this time, I did
my best to compose the girls ; then, in
answer to my inquiry, Oona told me
that ConoUy had been killed.

" KHled ! " I exclaimed.

" I think so, Jack," said Oona ; " they say
he was shot on the Gulranny road this even-
ing. Papa, Aileen, and Nora have ridden

My Connaught Cousins. 241

oflF to the spot where they say he fell, and
Kate started ten minutes ago to see if she
could learn anything about it at the barrack."

The news coming thus suddenly upon
me gave me a shock ; but a moment's re-
flection served partly to dispel my fear. I
remembered ConoUy's former escapades, and
smiled.

" Don't excite yourselves," I said, as the
frightened girls clustered about me; "de-
pend upon it that whoever is killed Mr
ConoUy is safe."

But speak as I would, laugh as I might,
I was utterly unable to dispel the awful
depression which had fallen upon the
Lodge. We clustered close together, and
sat down by the fire to await the return of
my imcle and the girls ; and, in answer to
my questions, Oona told me the little that
she knew.

" We were just going to have our tea,"
she said, " and were aU together in the
dining-room, when Shawn rushed in, as

VOL. III. Q

242 My Connaught Cousins.

white as death, and told us that Mr O'Neil
was shot. Well, we were all fearfully ex-
cited, and papa and Kate were starting for
the Castle, when what should we see but
Mr O'Neil's car, with Mr O'Niel on it, dash
furiously past. For a while after that we
could learn nothing — ^the whole village
seemed to be in commotion— people were
gliding about like ghosts. Papa was on
the point of starting for the barrack, when
" Michael, the ferry," came up and told us
that as Mr O'Neil had been driving along
the Gulranny road he had been shot at by
some one hidden in a ditch — ^that he had
fired back at a man whom he saw running
away, and that the man fell dead ! "

" The man was Conolly ? "

'' Yes, Jack, Conolly ! "

Still, I could not believe it ; 50 I sug-
gested that before accepting the gloomiest
side of the picture, we should wait for Kath-
leen's news.

So we clustered together round the din-

My Connaught Cousins. 243

ing-room heaxth ; and, for the first time
since my arrival in Storport, I felt that I
was really among the' landlord shooters.
We sat like ghosts in the firelight — sajdng
little, listening for Kate's footfall, but hear-
ing only the loud ticking of the clock.
Half-an-hour — an hour passed, and Kath-
leen did not return. We all grew restless,
and Oona suggested that I should walk
down to the barrack and meet Kate. At
first I refused, being loath to leave the
three girls alone, — but presently my curi-
osity overcame me ; I yielded, and after a
secret but anxious embrace from Oona in
the hall, I set out.

It was a dark, cold, gloomy night ;
scarcely any soul seemed to be abroad ; but
again I fancied I heard about me a mixture
of mysterious sounds. Having reached the
high road, I was conscious of figures moving
about me like ghosts in the darkness, but
instead of pausing to inquire the news, I
made straight for the barrack. Here 1

244 My Connaught Cousins.

found a little more life — the barrack was
lit up — ^two policemen, well armed, were on
guard — while around the building lingered
several figures, quite indistinguishable in
the darkness. On mentioning my name,
and asking for Kathleen, I was at once
admitted, and came face to face with
my cousin, who was talking to some
policemen in the hall. Kathleen looked
very pale, her eyes were wet, and when
I took her hand, I felt that it was cold
as ice.

" Is it true, Kate ? " I asked, for want
of something else to say.

" Quite true," returned Kate tremulously ;
" poor ConoUy ! " and she hid her face for a
moment, and sobbed.

"Where is he?"

"He is here — he was carried straight
here, and will remain till after the inquest
to-morrow."

" I should like to see him."

"Very well," said Kate, "you can see

My Connaught Cousins. 245

him if you like, Jack ; but I think 111
wait for you here. I have had one glimpse
of him, and it has unnerved me terribly.
I couldn't stand it again."

Kathleen was certainly terribly unnerved ;
seeing this, I offered to take her home at
once, but as I had expressed a wish to see
Conolly, she insisted on my doing so. One
of the policemen offered to escort me, so,
with a strange sense of sickness upon me,
I walked away.

We passed along a bare, dimly-lighted
passage, and entered a room. The room
was in darkness, but upon my guide ad-
vancing a few steps, and holding up the
candle which he carried, I saw before me
the prostrate figure of a man. He lay
upon a wooden stretcher in the middle of
the room. The sight was so ghastly that
for a moment my courage seemed to be
failing me. At one glance I had recognised
Conolly, changed as he was. He was com-
pletely dressed, but his ragged clothes

246 My Connaught Cousins.

were soaked with bogmire and bespattered
with blood — his face had been wiped, but
some of the black which he had used as a
mask still clung to his cheeks and mouth ;
his pale blue eyes were open, and his
teeth were set as if with intense pain.
I gazed for a moment, then with a sigh
I turned away.

On my return to the hall, Kathleen and
I set out at once — both I fancy, feeling
rather glad to be away from the place
where poor murdered ConoUy lay.

" I suppose, Kate," I said, as soon
as we found ourselves alone, "Mr O'Neil
has committed this murder ? "

" No," returned Kate ; " not Mr O'Neil,
but a young Englishman, a friend of his,
who was visiting the Castle, and who
happened to be on the car."

" Then it was Mr O'Neil who was
fired at?"

"Yes. He received the usual notice
it seems, several weeks ago, and conse-

/

My Connaught Cousins. 247

quently avoided the Gulranny road until
to-day, when he believed the storm had
passed. The young stranger had been
seal shooting in Gulranny bay, and know-
ing the state of the country, he kept
his rifle loaded on the way home. When
the shots were fired, the horse bolted,
and, if Mr Gregory had been alone as
usual, nothing more would have been
known of the affair ; but his friend, who
is a mere boy, got excited, jumped off
the car, ran back to the spot, and shot
ConoUy through the heart as he was
trying to make his escape."

" Was he alone ? "

" No ; there were two with him, I
believe — ^the police fired on them, but
they escaped."

By this time we reached the Lodge,
and found- the dining-room occupied by
an excited group. My uncle, Nora,
and Aileen, who had returned, looking
weary and pained, still wore their riding

248 My Connaught Cousins.

dresses; so did Achill Murry, and young^
Bingley ; while Father John, and Dr Ma-
guire, were bespattered with mud with hard
walking. Most of them were drinking the
grog, of which they seemed sorely in need
— ^while they were discussing, in eager
whispers, the horrible events of the day.

" Kate," said my uncle, when we ap-
peared, "can you put us all up for
the night ? We're summoned, all but
his reverence, on the coroner's jury to-
morrow, and 'tis late for his reverence
and the doctor to be walking home.

I saw a terribly anxious look come into
Kate's eyes as she said, putting her hand
on his shoulder, —
• " Then you are summoned too, papa ? "

" Sure enough, Tnavourneen; they've taken
the young Englishman prisoner, and we're to
say to-morrow whether he's to be tried for
manslaughter or set free."

" And which of the two do ye mane to
do, Mr Kenmare ? " asked the doctor.

My Connaught Cotistns. 249

" What can we do, doctor ? After all,
the young fellow can't be blamed, for he
did it in self-defence. Poor, poor ConoUy !
he was always weak and easily led, and
don't I know he's not to blame either.
The villain that set the whole thing
going, and deserves the punishment, is
talking it over at this moment by his
own fireside."

For a moment there was silence. I
saw Kathleen quietly close and fasten the
shutters, a thing I had never known her
do before. Then she left the room to see
about accommodating her visitors for the
night. The silence was at length broken
by Father John.

" And so you really think, Mr Kenmare,"
said he, " that Mr Conolly never fired that
shot ? "

My uncle sighed.

" Not at all. Father John," said he. " I'm
certain sure the poor fellow did fire it,
and if he hadn't been shot dead, I bejii^ve

250 My Connaught Cousins.

he'd have fired another. The second barrel
of the gun he used is loaded almost to the
muzzle, and even now the forefinger of
his right hand is bent, which shows that
he died as he was about to pull the
trigger."

"While the conversation was general, I,
who really knew little or nothing of the
subject, held my peace ; but after most of
the company had retired for the night, and
only four of us, my imcle, Kathleen, Oona
and myself were left alone, I asked an
explanation of my uncle's words.

" Who do you think," I said, " is at the
bottom of this aflFair ? "

Before replying, my uncle looked cauti-
ously round the room, opened the door
suddenly, shut it again, then returned to
his seat.

" Jack, my boy," he said, speaking very
low, "there isn't a man in Storport but
knows who's at the bottom of it, includ-
ing Father John himself. Listen ; there's

My Connaught Cousins. 251

one, a Mr Timlin — brother-in-law to Mrs
Timlin, and therefore a kind of relation
to ConoUy, who lives in Gubanny. He
is a well-to-do farmer. For years he has
rented a rabbit warren, which lies close
to his farm. A few weeks ago O'Neil took
the warren from him, and shortly afterwards
received sentence of death. It was this
man's gnn which was found by ConoUy's
side, and it was this very man who, a few
minutes after the skirmish to-day, galloped
into Gulranny and said that O'Neil was
kiUed ! He's a dirty, low blackguard, that
fears the gallows ! He wanted O'Neil
put out of the way, and he couldn't find
a better man than ConoUy to do it ; so he
supplied him with a gun, and plenty of
whisky, and galloped home with the news,
in order to clear himself."

" You think that ? "

" I'm certain of it ! "

" And you could swear to the gun ? "

" Among a hundred ! "

252 My Connaught Cousins.

"Then if that's the case, it's a pity
the man can't be punished."

" Do you think so ? "

" Don't you ? "

My uncle shook his head.

" We couldn't bring poor ConoUy back
any way," he said, "so 'tis better to let
it rest."

All that night I scarcely slept ; at seven
o'clock in the morning I was out of the
house, walking with Oona, whom I found
restlessly pacing the gravel before the
hall-door. I took her hand upon my
arm, and we walked through the village
together. Although it was so early, every-
body seemed to be astir, and every-
where along the road small groups of
men and women gathered talking eagerly,
while the barrack was besieged by a
regular crowd ; the cold feeling of death
seemed to have got in the air, and every-
body was changed ; the people scarcely
looked at us at all; when they did, it

My Connaught Cousins. 253

was with a sullen, sinister look of mingled
fear and dislike. I fancy Oona noticed
this, and understood it far better than
I, for she clung in a half-frightened
way to my arm as if to protect me.

We had finished our walk and were
on our way back to the Lodge, when
in passing the barrack gate we suddenly
came face to face with Mrs Timlin. She
looked angry and excited; she stopped
directly before Oona, and exclaimed, —

** The dirty black-hearted rogues. Do
ye know what they've done, Miss Oona?
Afther murthering poor Conolly, they've
taken Toney Timlin and locked him up
in the barrack ! "

" "What for ? " asked Oona ; " what do
they say he has done, Mrs Timlin ? "

After a defiant stare at me, Mrs Timlin
replied,—

" They say he was in wid Conolly in
his plans to shoot the mashter — bad cess
to him ! but sure they'll have to 'prove

254 ^y Connaught Cousins.

it ; and there isn't a soul in Storport
would swear away the life of an inno-
cent boy."

Oona uttered a few sympathetic words,
and we passed on.

At breakfast that morning all the con-
versation turned upon the one absorbing
theme. I told of the interview we had
had with Mrs Timlin, and of the news she
gave; and I fancied my uncle looked
troubled. Again I felt mystified ; I had
imagined that the police had acted wisely
in taking the real offender into custody : —
one glance around the table showed me
that in this opinion I stood completely
alone.

The inquest was to be held early; —
as soon, therefore, as breakfast was over,
those who had been summoned started
off". I remained behind for a while to
brighten up the spirits of the girls, but
I found it a hopeless business. All their
old liveliness had departed, — and the very

My Connaught Cousins. 255

Lodge itself seemed to have been trans-
formed into the dreariness of a tomb.
Pinding myself of so little use to the girls,
I at length turned my thoughts to myself,
remembered the letters which I had received
by post that morning, and instinctively
looked around for Oona. She was nowhere
to be seen. I went up to her room, quietly
opened the door, and there I found her
sitting by her writing-desk with her
face buried in her hands. I fancy
she heard me enter, but she did not
move. I went over, put my arms
around her, and laid her pretty head
on my shoulder.

" Oona, my pet, why are you crying ? "

" I — I didn't mean to cry, " sobbed
Oona, as she hid her face on my shoulder,
" but I went down to see him, and it
nearly broke my heart . . . Oh, Jack, it is
terrible ! "

I held her closely to me, and let her
cry a little; while my body trembled

256 My Connaught Cousins.

through and through as her soft hands
clung to mine ; then I said tenderly, —

"Oona, I want to talk to you about
myself to-day."

" Yes, Jack."

" I got letters this morning which
demand my return to town."

I felt Oona start, and I fancied she
crept a little bit closer to me; but she
said nothing.

"I have had a very pleasant holiday,"
I continued, "thanks to my Connaught
Cousins. I ought to be satisfied, but I
find I'm not ; when I read those letters
this morning, I felt as if they had brought
me sentence of death ! Oona, my darling,
I love you ! "

This time Oona raised her head,

"Then you will come back?" she said.
"Oh, Jack, if you love me you will not
leave me long."

"That shall be as you wish, my pet.
But think well, Oona. Could you bear

My Connaught Cousins, 257

to leave Storport, your friends, your horses,
your hammock, your dreams, for me?**

" No," said Oona, smiling a little
through her tears, "I shall not leave
them, Jack. We will always come back
to dear old Ireland once a year, and
I wiU bring my dreams to London
with me to brighten up your rooms
if I can. Dear Jack, I will try to be
very good to you ; only I feel it is
sinful to feel so happy when I think of
poor Conolly."

When the luncheon beU sounded, Oona
and I were still sitting by the window
dreaming. We descended the stairs to-
gether, and found a large company await-
ing us in the dining-room. There was
my uncle, and Pather John, Dr Maguire,
Murry, and young Bingley, besides the
clergyman, and one or two other gentle-
men, who were strangers to me. I asked
what they had done.

VOL. ni. B

258 My Connaught Cousins.

"It's all over. Jack," returned my
uncle. ** Of course we've acquitted the
young Englishman, but I believe Mr
Toney Timlin is to be tried at Gulranny
court."

CHAPTEE X.

OW the next few days passed I
scarcely know. Por two even-
ings I accompanied some of
the girls to Mrs Timlin's kitchen, and we
mingled amongst the crowd which had
collected together to do the last honours to
Conolly. On the morning of the third
day it seemed to me that the whole of
the village had turned out to see the
poor fellow laid in his grave. It had been
a grand wake, and it was a grand funeral,
but I for one was glad when it was over,
thinking that at length popular excite-
ment would die away. But I was wrong.
When we got home from the funeral, my

26o My Connaught Cousins.

uncle's expressive face showed me that
something was wrong. I soon found what
it was. Some words of his had got abroad,
and he had been summoned as a witness
against Toney Timlin at Gulranny court.

" I've to go in to-morrow, Jack," said my
uncle, " so if you want to see the clearing
up of this aflFair, you had better come . • .
Shawn, you rascal," he added, " have Lucy
and Jack saddled by nine in the morning,
«.d .ee they're ia condition for a gaUop."

PunctuaUy at nine in the morning the
horses were at the Lodge door, and I, after
having taken an affectionate fgirewell of
Oona, mounted Jack, and, accompanied by
my uncle, galloped off along the Gulranny
road. I was in excellent spirits, and anxious
to reach the scene of action, for in truth I
was eager to avenge poor Conolly's death.

"At last," I said to myself, "the real
offender wiU be punished, and poor Con-
olly's death avenged."

On our arrival, we found the court

My Connaught Cousins. 261

crammed to suflFocation, and Toney Timlin,
the lowest looking blackguard I had ever
set eyes on — had already taken his place in
the dock. My uncle, being a witness, was
sent to the waiting-room, but I was per-
mitted to take my seat in the body of
the court. I watched the proceedings with
interest; I saw the witnesses enter the
box, and perjure themselves deliberately:
then came my uncle's turn, and I sighed
relieved, thinking, "at last the truth will
be spoken, and a death-blow will be given
to all that has gone before."

My uncle seemed scarcely himself — a fact
which somewhat amazed me, since I knew
that his evidence, though of great import-
ance, was of the most straightforward
kind. He was certainly not easy in his
mind ; he answered the first few questions
honestly enough ; then the gun, the very
one which poor Conolly had used, was put
into his hand.

" Have you ever seen that gun before ? "

262 My Connaught Cousins.

M7 unde nodded.

" I have."

" When ? •*

" Three days ago, at Storport barrack."

" Was that the first time you saw it ? "

" I don't know."

" Ton know the prisoner ? "

" I do."
. " Have you ever seen him with a gun % "

" I have."

"Withthisgun?"

Again my unde shook his head.

" I don't know."

" Do you mean to assert, on your oath,
Mr Kenmare, that this gun is not the
property of the prisoner at the bar ? "

" No ; neither do I assert that it is —
guns are so much alike, I wouldn't swear
either one way or the other."

So the evidence closed, and that very day I
saw the prisoner walk out of court a free man.

"Come Jack, my boy," said my uncle,
taking my arm and leading me through

My Connaught Cousins. 263

the crowd to the place where our horses
awaited us. " We promised the girls to
get back early; so prepare yourself for a
good gallop home."

I mounted my horse in silence; in silence
too we galloped fiilly two miles along the
road ; then we pulled up our horses a bit,
and I asked my uncle why he refused to
swear to the gun.

" You could have got that black-looking
villain out of the way for some time to
come."

"Sure, don't I know it, Jack, and
there isn't a boy in Storport deserves it
more."

"Then why, in heaven's name, didn't
you do it ? "

He gave that cautious look about him,
and sunk his voice to a whisper before
he replied.

' * The word they wanted me to speak
would have been my own death-warrant ! "

" Good God ! " I exclaimed ;. " they woijld

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My Connaught Cousins. 265

Eight o'clock : dinner was over, and
we were all collected in the cozy draw-
ing-room of the Lodge. The girls seemed
a little dull, and even my uncle's jolly
face was somewhat overcast. It was the
last evening of my stay in Storport. Yes,
my visit had in truth come to an end ;
my packages were all done up — ^most of my
farewells had been said ; and at nine o'clock
in the morning, I should mount the car
which was destined to bear me away.

It was a cold winter night ; outside
the snow was falling heavily, but all was
cozy comfort within. The girls had
donned their brightest costumes, though
they could not don their brightest faces,
and one and all seemed to take intense
delight in calling me ^^ brother" Jack!
In sooth, they hung about me, and so
liberally supplied me with kisses that I
was obliged, in sheer self-defence, to seek
protection from Oona. . . . She was
sitting in a comer of the room, busily
voL.an. s

266 My Connaught Cousins.

at work tying up a package which was
evidently intended for me. When I
went to her, she looked up, half-shyly,
half.pleaaed, and said,—

" There, Jack, they are quite ready."

« What are they, dear ? "

Oona frowned.

" Forgetful boy ! — as if you didn't know.
They are my manuscripts — you are to
get me a publisher for them — "

" Of course — I haven't forgotten — ^but,
Oona, I don't mean to have them pub-
lished until — ^"

" Until—"

** Well, until you can put some other name
upon the fly-leaf than Oona Kenmare ! "

Not soon shall I forget the parting
at the door next morning ; with my
uncle's kindly face beaming upon me,
and the girls clinging around me. At
last, with a hug all round, and one
special embrace to Oona, I was off". The

My Connaught Cousins. 267

car dashed down the avenue, and out
on to the lonely road. Looking back-
ward I saw the village, where I had
known so much kindness, and seen so
much sorrow. On the roadside, Shawn,
his father, and all his sisters and
brothers, were waiting with many more
to bid me " good - bye." Poor Irish
souls ! As I looked into their wild faces,
and pressed their hands, I thought of
their many virtues, their simple affections,
their deep and cruel wrongs (for wronged
the Irish have been, God knows !), and I
said to myself, with one whose soul was
large with human kindness, though he fell
upon a stormy time, " God bless Ireland ! "
As the car paused on the summit of
the hill, I saw my uncle and the girls at
the Lodge gate, watching me go — and,
standing up with a full heart, I waved
" good-bye " to my " Connaught Cousins."

THE END.

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